R 


o 


sacs? 
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THE 


LAST  OF  THE  LENAPE, 


AND 


OTHER   POEMS. 


BY    SAMUEL    M.    JANNEY, 


PHILADELPHIA: 
HENRY  PERKINS— 134  CHESTNUT  ST. 

BOSTON: 
PERKINS  &  MARVIN— 114  WASHINGTON  ST. 

1839. 


v 

X 

«>£ 


[Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1839,  by 
SAMUEL  M.  JANNEY,  in  the  Clerk's  Office,  in  the  District  of  Co 
lumbia.] 


J.  Richards,  Printer, 
130  N.  Third  St. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  LENAPE, 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

An  Essay  on  Poetry,  -        9 

Dedication,  21 

The  Last  of  the  Lenape,     -  23 

Notes,              -            -  39 

Tewinissa,  -       45 

Descriptive  Pieces. 

A  Night  Scene  among  the  Mountains  of  Virginia,        -  60 

The  Country  School  House,                          -  -       64 

Potomac,           -  69 

Jefferson's  Rock,    -  -       72 

Lake  George,  -  77 

The  Peaks  of  Otter,  -      80 

Poems  founded  on  tke  Affections. 

To  Serena,       -                                      ...  83 

Sonnet  to  a  Rose,   -            -            -            -            -  86 

Something  New,           .....  87 

Autumn,     .......       89 

Serena,                                        ....  95 

Stanzas,      ...                          .  -     102 

Evening  Enjoyments,  -            -            -            .  104 


M189412 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

Page, 
Stanzas  to  E.  J.  .  .  .  .  _     |Qg 

Connubial  Love,  ....  108 

Cosmelia,     -  -  ....  no 

The  Re-union  of  Friends,         -  ...  113 

Friendship — Addressed  to  J.  J.  Jr.  .  .  .  HQ 

A  Birth-day  Ode,         .  .  .  .  .  jjg 

Elegiac  Verses. 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Samuel  P.  Adams,  -  .  120 

Lines  addressed  to  a  Friend,  on  the  Death  of  his  Father,  124 

Affliction,  ---...  126 

Scientific  Poems. 

Caloric,                                                  -            -            .  128 

LiSht'  -    131 

Electricity,       ---...  134 

Astronomy,                          .             .             .             .  -     137 

Attraction,        .....  140 

Miscellaneous  Pieces. 

The  Triumphs  of  Truth,    .....     142 

The  Martyrs,  --....  153 

Lucy's  Grave,         -                                       -             -  .     155 

Evening  Reflections,    -             .             .             .             -  161 

Lines  Written  in  an  Album,           -             .             .  -     164 

Mental  Beauty,             -             -             .             .             -  165 

To  Ophelia — Written  for  an  Album,            -             -  -167 

Farewell  to  the  Harp,  -             -             .            .             .  169 

Devotional  Poems,        -            -             .             .            .  171 

The  Activity  of  the  Soul,    -            -            .            .  -177 


PREFACE. 


IN  bringing  before  the  public  this  volume  of  Poems, 
the  author  feels  it  due  to  himself  to  observe  that  many 
of  them  were  composed  early  in  life ;  but  the  two  prin 
cipal  poems,  which  stand  first  in  the  collection,  as  well 
as  most  of  the  scientific,  and  some  of  the  descriptive 
pieces,  are  of  recent  production.  He  trusts  that  they 
will  all  be  found  calculated  to  promote  the  cause  of 
piety  and  truth,  which  was  the  original  design  of  poe 
try,  and  ought  still  to  be  the  main  object  of  its  cultiva 
tion. 

To  convey  instruction  through  the  medium  of  plea 
sing  images  and  delightful  associations,  is  the  noblest 
task  of  the  poet ;  and  although  the  author  of  these  pages 
may  not  possess  the  power  of  rising  to  the  highest 
flights  of  genius,  he  is  conscious  of  having  endeavoured 
to  improve  the  abilities  entrusted  to  him, — and  it  re 
mains  with  the  public  to  decide  upon  the  merits  of  his 
labours. 

Occoquan,  Va.  12th  mo.  4<A,  1838. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  POETRY. 


THERE  have  been  periods  when  an  essay  in  defence 
of  Poetry,  would  have  been  deemed  as  superfluous  as 
an  attempt  to  defend  the  cultivation  of  flower  gardens 
and  orchards;  but  in  this  utilitarian  age,  the  wonderful 
discoveries  of  science,  the  progress  of  civil  liberty,  and 
the  rapid  march  of  improvement  in  the  mechanic  arts, 
in  manufactures,  and  in  navigation,  have  turned  the  at 
tention  of  the  public  almost  entirely  to  those  pursuits 
which  minister  to  the  physical  wants  of  man.  It  is  not 
the  design  of  this  essay  to  discourage  those  pursuits, 
but  merely  to  show  that  there  are  others  which  relate 
more  immediately  to  the  wants  of  the  mind,  and  which 
have  an  equal,  if  not  a  still  greater  tendency  to  extend 
the  sphere  of  human  enjoyment.  The  happiness  of 
man  does  not  depend  so  much  upon  the  extent  of  his 
temporal  possessions,  as  upon  the  purity  of  his  desires, 
and  the  harmonious  action  of  his  moral  and  intellectual 
powers.  The  proper  regulation  of  these  powers  de 
pends  much  upon  early  associations,  and  upon  a  refined 
2 


10  AN    ESSAY    ON    POETRY. 

taste  which  enables  us  to  enjoy  the  grand  and  beautiful 
in  nature,  and  teaches  us  to  appreciate  those  ennobling 
qualities  of  the  mind  and  of  the  heart,  which  constitute 
the  real  dignity  of  man. 

There  is  something  so  intrinsically  beautiful  in  a  life 
spent  in  innocence  and  peace  amid  the  shades  of  rural 
retirement,  that  it  has  in  all  ages  formed  the  favourite 
theme  of  the  moral  poet;  and  there  are  few  men  of  cul 
tivated  minds,  however  they  may  be  engrossed  by  the 
business  of  life,  who  do  not  indulge  the  hope  that  they 
will  one  day  retire  from  the  world,  and  realize  those 
visions  of  happiness  so  long  and  so  fondly  cherished. 
These  views,  although  they  may  never  be  realized  in 
actual  experience,  have  still  a  favourable  influence  upon 
the  heart,  and  prevent  its  tender  sensibilities  from  being 
entirely  destroyed  by  the  withering  influence  of  a  world 
ly  spirit.  If  such  minds  could  trace  back  the  current 
of  their  thoughts  to  the  source  from  whence  those  as 
sociations  were  derived,  they  would  often  find  it  to  be 
from  the  perusal,  in  their  youthful  days,  of  some  poem, 
in  which  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  the  happiness  of 
rural  life,  were  themes  of  praise. 

These  effects  may  likewise  be  produced  by  compo 
sitions  in  prose,  conveying  to  the  mind  the  same  kind 
of  impressions,— but  verse,  if  well  executed,  has  many 
advantages  over  prose,  especially  as  a  medium  to  con 
vey  moral  sentiments  to  the  young.  There  is  a  natural 
taste  in  all  young  persons  for  the  melody  of  Verse, — 


AN    ESSAY    OX    POETRY.  11 

they  generally  show  a  fondness  for  the  rhymes,  the 
metre,  and  the  alliteration  of  poetry,  before  they  are 
capable  of  appreciating  the  beauty  of  the  sentiments  it 
conveys. 

As  the  youthful  mind  advances  in  knowledge,  the 
taste  for  metrical  composition  generally  increases  in 
proportion  as  the  capacity  to  perceive  the  higher  beau 
ties  of  style,  becomes  enlarged  and  improved.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  season  in  which  we  enjoy  those  pleasures 
with  a  higher  relish,  than  just  before  that  period  arrives 
when  we  are  to  enter  upon  the  arduous  duties  of  life. 
After  the  cares  of  business,  and  the  intercourse  of  the 
world,  have  in  some  degree  worn  off  the  sensibilities  of 
youth,  we  are  apt  not  only  to  lose  for  a  season,  our 
relish  for  literature,  but  even  to  find  impaired,  our  love 
for  the  beautiful  scenery  of  nature.  But  that  love,  if  it 
has  once  taken  root,  will  again  revive,  and  may  in  after 
life,  become  one  of  the  sources  of  our  highest  enjoy 
ment.  For  whether  a  man  be  successful  or  unsuccess 
ful  in  the  pursuit  of  worldly  objects,  he  will  find  at  last 
that  the  bright  anticipations  of  happiness  which  he  in 
dulged  in  early  life,  are  not  to  be  realized  in  the  acqui 
sition  of  wealth  or  power;  and  after  having  joined  the 
crowd  in  their  eager  pursuit,  he  will,  if  he  attends  to 
the  admonitions  of  experience,  endeavour  to  attain  the 
object  of  his  desire  in  the  calm  and  tranquil  enjoyments 
of  domestic  life.  Then  he  will  find  the  tastes  of  his 
youth  again  revived;  and  if  in  early  life  he  has  imbibed 


12  AN   ESSAY   ON   POETRY. 

a  relish  for  intellectual  and  spiritual  enj  oyments,  they 
will  become  the  solace  of  his  declining  years. 

But  there  are  persons  who  object  to  the  reading  of 
poetry,  because  of  the  wild  and  extravagant  fictions 
with  which  it  abounds,  and  the  impure  images  it  some 
times  conveys.  This  objection  will  apply  equally  well 
to  compositions  in  prose,  and  until  the  public  shall  learn 
to  discriminate,  and  to  encourage  only  that  which  is 
good,  we  must  expect  the  evil  to  continue.  There  is, 
however,  no  necessity  for  resorting  to  such  means  for 
entertainment,  for  the  records  of  past  ages,  the  tradi 
tions  of  our  fathers,  and  the  scenes  of  real  life  now  act 
ing  around  us,  furnish  the  poet  with  abundant  materials 
for  the  construction  of  his  works.  There  is  no  neces 
sity  laid  upon  him  to  depart  from  the  truth  in  his  nar 
ratives  or  descriptions; — but  like  the  historical  painter, 
who  takes  his  figures  from  real  life,  and  places  them  in 
attitudes  suited  for  the  performance  of  some  action  re 
lated  in  authentic  history, — although  the  characters  may 
be  copies  from  nature,  yet  the  attitudes,  the  grouping, 
the  expression,  and  the  drapery,  are  his  own — and  these 
furnish  him  all  the  scope  for  the  exercise  of  his  talent 
that  can  be  desired. 

It  does  not  however  follow,  because  a  story  is  true 
that  it  is  therefore  suitable  for  poetry,  or  even  for  in 
structive  prose, — for  some  incidents  are  too  trivial,  and 
others  too  low  or  disgusting,  to  be  introduced,  and  it  re 
quires  a  discriminating  taste  to  copy  from  real  life,  and 


AN    ESSAY    ON    POETRY.  13 

yet  to  furnish  a  picture  that  shall  at  once  afford  pleasure 
and  instruction.  Fidelity  to  nature,  and  purity  of  moral 
sentiments,  ought  to  be  required  of  every  author  who 
aspires  to  public  favour,— -but  it  must  be  acknowledged, 
that  many  modern  writers  in  prose  and  verse,  are  sadly 
deficient  in  both  of  these  qualifications.  It  was  re 
marked  some  years  ago,  by  an  able  writer  in  one  of 
the  foreign  Magazines,  "that  in  perusing  some  of  the 
most  popular  English  productions  of  the  present  day, 
it  is  impossible  not  to  observe  to  what  an  extent  our 
literature  has  been  infected  by  the  system  of  substitu 
ting  the  turbulence  and  sophistries  of  lawless  passion, 
for  the  delineation  of  those  more  regular  and  decent 
movements,  which  appeal  to  our  sympathy  through  our 
moral  approbation.  In  our  poets  and  our  poetical  novel 
writers,  this  innovation  has  been  most  flagrant  and  sys 
tematic,  and  most  successful  as  far  as  to  be  read  with 
avidity,  and  applauded  by  the  unthinking,  can  constitute 
success.  The  fashionable  notion  now  is,  that  in  a  work 
of  true  genius,  every  thing  must  be  made  subordinate  to 
passion,  no  matter  how  unnatural  or  presumptuous  a 
tone  it  may  assume;  and  accordingly,  our  recent  litera 
ture  has  teemed  with  impassioned  railers  against  the 
decencies  of  life, — impassioned  marauders  by  sea  and 
land, — impassioned  voluptuaries, — impassioned  rene- 
gadoes — impassioned  striplings — impassioned  hags: — 
all  of  them  venting  furious  sublimity  upon  the  astonish 
ed  reader,  and  boldly  demanding  his  profound  admira- 
2* 


14  AN    ESSAY    ON    POETRY. 

tion,  because  they  have  lost  all  control  over  their  actions 
and  words."  * 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  there  is  a  class  of 
writers,  of  whom  this  picture  is  a  faithful  portrait,-— 
men  who  have  devoted  the  energies  of  the  loftiest  ge 
nius,  to  decorate  the  couch  of  voluptuousness,  to  con 
ceal  the  deformity  of  vice,  and  to  strew  with  the  flowers 
of  poesy,  the  path  that  leads  to  destruction.  The  per 
sonages  who  figure  in  their  pages,  although  invested 
with  much  of  heroic  sentiment, — would,  if  they  lived 
and  moved  among  us,  be  considered  the  most  danger 
ous  associates:  and  can  they  be  proper  subjects  for 
contemplation  to  the  inexperienced  mind?  There  may 
be  characters  found  or  imagined  of  the  most  flagrant 
wickedness, — yet  having  some  traits  that  bear  a  resem 
blance  to  virtue, — and  it  is  in  the  power  of  a  vivid  im 
agination,  by  dwelling  upon  these,  to  shed  around  them 
a  deceptive  light  which  dazzles  the  beholder. 

How  many  a  youthful  mind  has  followed  with  en 
thusiasm  the  story  of  some  imaginary  hero,  through  all 
the  vicissitudes  of  a  career  stained  with  crime.  His 
deeds  of  cruelty,  his  relentless  hate,  and  his  unbridled 
passions,  are  lightly  passed  over,  while  the  imagination 
is  dazzled  by  "  deeds  of  noble  daring,"  by  a  boundless 
generosity,  and  by  an  impassioned  devotion  to  some 
fair  being  who  leans  on  him  for  protection. 

*  Campbell's  Magazine,  vol.  1,  p.  397. 


AN    ESSAY    ON    POETRY.  1$ 

Such  characters  have  been  portrayed  by  many  of  the 
poets  and  novelists  of  modern  times,  and  their  effects 
upon  the  youthful  reader  cannot  fail  to  be  injurious; — 
if  they  do  not  in  direct  terms  encourage  vice,  they  at 
least  sap  the  foundation  of  virtue. 

But  the  poets  and  the  novelists  are  not  alone  obnoxi 
ous  to  this  charge,  for  even  the  historian  has  too  often 
followed  in  the  same  path,  and  bestowed  upon  personal 
bravery,  that  praise  which  is  only  due  to  moral  great 
ness.  In  casting  the  mind's  eye  over  the  literature  of 
past  ages,  how  much  do  we  find  that  is  calculated  to 
encourage  the  spirit  of  war,  and  how  little  that  tends  to 
cherish  the  Christian  virtues.  Some  of  our  earliest  im 
pressions  derived  from  poetry  and  history,  are  inimical 
to  the  meek  and  peaceable  spirit  of  the  gospel.  "We 
are  intoxicated  with  the  exploits  of  the  conqueror  as 
recorded  in  real  history  or  in  glowing  fiction.  We  fol 
low  with  a  sympathetic  ardour,  his  rapid  and  triumph 
ant  career  in  battle,  and,  unused  as  we  are  to  suffering 
and  death,  forget  the  fallen  and  miserable  who  are  crush 
ed  under  his  victorious  car.  Particularly  by  the  study 
of  the  ancient  poets  and  historians,  the  sentiments  of 
early  and  barbarous  ages  on  the  subject  of  war  are  kept 
alive  in  the  mind.  The  trumpet  which  roused  the  fury 
of  Achilles,  and  of  the  hordes  of  Greece,  still  resounds 
in  our  ears,  and  though  Christians  by  profession,  some 
of  our  earliest  and  deepest  impressions  are  received  in 


16  AN    ESSAY    ON    POETRY. 

the  school  of  uncivilized  antiquity."*  May  we  not  hope 
that  the  benign  influence  of  the  gospel  of  Christ,  and 
the  increasing  light  of  civilization,  will  yet  more  and 
more  influence  mankind,  until  we  shall  have  a  litera 
ture  suited  to  the  wants  of  a  Christian  people.  A  litera 
ture  that  instead  of  rousing  the  warlike  passions,  and 
inciting  the  love  of  worldly  glory,  will  tend  to  soothe 
the  perturbed  spirit,  and  inspire  the  contemplative  mind 
with  a  relish  for  piety,  harmony  and  peace.  It  appears 
to  me  that  such  a  day  must  yet  arrive,  and  he  who 
would  write  for  posterity,  must  cultivate  in  his  own 
mind,  and  endeavour  to  impress  upon  his  works,  those 
sentiments  which  are  suited  for  a  purer  and  a  happier 
age.  In  these  views  I  am  supported  by  one  of  the 

O 

greatest  of  modern  poets,  who  says, 

"  Noise,  is  there  not  enough  in  doleful  war, 

But  that  the  heaven-born  poet  must  stand  forth 

And  lend  the  echoes  of  his  sacred  shell, 

To  multiply  and  aggravate  the  din? 

Pangs,  are  there  not  enough  in  hopeless  love; 

And  in  requited  passion,  all  too  much 

Of  turbulence,  anxiety  and  fear, 

But  that  the  minstrel  of  the  rural  shade 

Must  tune  his  pipe  insidiously,  to  nurse 

The  perturbation  in  the  suffering  breast, 

A"nd  propagate  its  kind  where  e'er  he  may? 

*  Channing's  Discourse  on  War. 


AN    ESSAY    ON    POETRY.  17 

Ah!  who  (and  with  such  rapture  as  befits 
The  hallowed  theme)  will  rise  and  celebrate 
The  good  man's  deeds  and  purposes,  retrace 
His  struggles,  his  discomfiture  deplore, 
His  triumphs  hail,  and  glorify  his  end." 

WORDSWORTH. 

It  is  not  favourable  to  virtue,  for  the  mind  to  dwell 
too  much  upon  scenes  of  depravity  and  guilt,  whether 
they  be  described  in  authentic  history,  or  portrayed  in 
glowing  colours  by  the  novelist  or  the  poet.  But  let  us 
rather  contemplate  the  beautiful  and  sublime  in  nature, 
and  the  wise  and  benevolent  in  human  life, — and  more 
especially  let  us  keep  ever  in  our  view  the  glorious 
benignity  of  the  divine  character,  as  exhibited  in  the 
works  of  creation,  and  taught  and  exemplified  by  Jesus 
Christ. 

"  For  the  attentive  mind 
By  this  harmonious  action  on  her  powers, 
Becomes  herself  harmonious:  wont  so  oft 
In  outward  things  to  meditate  the  charm 
Of  sacred  order,  soon  she  seeks  at  home 
To  find  a  kindred  order,  to  exert 
Within  herself  this  elegance  of  love, 
This  fair  inspir'd  delight:  her  temper'd  powers 
Refine  at  length,  and  every  passion  wears 
A  chaster,  milder,  more  attractive  mien.*' 

AKENSIDE. 

We  shall  then  find  that  poetry  of  the  highest  order  will 
find  a  response  in  our  own  feelings,  and  be  like  a  mus 


18  AN    ESSAY    ON    POETRY. 

ror  to  present  to  our  view  the  images  of  our  past  emo 
tions, — for  true  poetic  feeling  is  not  confined  to  the 
bosom  of  the  poet,- — it  is  felt  at  times  by  every  pure 
and  elevated  mind,  when  placed  in  circumstances  favour 
able  for  its  development.  For  instance,  when,  retired 
from  the  bustle  of  the  world  and  surrounded  by  beauti 
ful  and  tranquil  scenery,  we  muse  upon  the  uncertainty 
of  life  and  think  upon  the  dear  companions  of  our  child 
hood  who  have  passed  away  from  this  scene  of  exist- 
ance.  Who  is  there  that  does  not  realize  on  such  an 
occasion,  that  impassioned  feeling  which  is  the  soul  of 
poetry?  The  impressions  which  are  thus  made  upon 
the  mind  may  lie  concealed  for  years,  but  if  we  meet 
with  a  passage  by  which  they  are  revived,  or  by  which 
kindred  associations  are  produced,  how  delightful  it  is 
to  hear  the  harmonious  numbers  sounding  in  our  ears 
like  the  echoes  of  the  past.  But  although  these  emo 
tions  which  are  poetical  in  their  nature,  may  at  times 
prevail  in  almost  every  mind,  it  must  be  conceded  that 
the  power  of  describing  them  so  as  to  convey  their  im 
ages  distinctly  to  others,  is  a  faculty  possessed  by  few ; 
and  in  this  faculty  chiefly  consists  the  characteristic  of 
the  poet. 

If  this  view  be  correct,  it  would  seem  that  although 
poetry,  as  an  art,  must  be  confined  to  a  few,  yet  the 
cultivation  of  poetic  feelings  and  associations  is  open 
for  all;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  it  was  intended  by 
the  benificent  Author  of  our  being,  to  be  a  source  of 


AN    ESSAY    ON    POETRY.  19 

refined  and  exalted  enjoyment.  And  this  enjoyment 
does  not  depend  entirely  upon  the  beauty  of  language, 
or  the  harmony  of  verse,' — although  these  have  confer 
red  upon  it  additional  charms, — it  depends  chiefly  upon 
that  harmony  of  the  mind, — that  music  of  the  soul, — 
which  is  independent  of  audible  sounds,  and  which 
may  be  felt  by  the  contemplative  mind  to  draw  us 
away  from  the  things  of  time,  and  to  direct  our  thoughts 
to  that  region  of  sublime  enjoyment,  where  every  heart 
will  be  attuned  to  harmony  and  love. 

"  Thus  the  men 

Whom  nature's  works  can  charm,  with  God  himself 
Hold  converse;  grow  familiar  day  by  day 
With  l/is  conceptions;  act  upon  his  plan, 
And  form  to  his  the  relish  of  their  souls." 

AKENSIDK. 


DEDICATION, 


To  THEE,  dear  Wife!  I  dedicate  the  strain 

By  which  has  oft  been  cheer'd  our  loneliest  hours, 

When,  like  a  frost,  untimely  grief  and  pain 

Came  o'er  the  heart,  to  blight  the  fairest  flowers: 
When,  in  the  spring,  to  their  deserted  bowers 

The  birds  return,  we  hail  their  cheering  lays, 
Then  let  us  not  despise  those  nobler  powers, 

By  which  the  muse  the  drooping  soul  can  raise, 

And  fill  the  thoughtful  mind  with  gratitude  and  praise. 

'Tis  not  an  idle  song,  I  here  present, 
The  wildering  fires  of  passion  to  impart, 

But  fram'd  with  higher  views, — and  with  intent 
To  wake  the  finer  feelings  of  the  heart: 
For  'tis  the  province  of  the  minstrel's  art, 

(A  noble  art  when  worthily  pursued;) 

To  soothe  the  anguish  left  by  sorrow's  dart, 

To  cheer  the  lonely  hours  of  solitude, 

And  fill  the  soul  with  love  for  all  that's  great  and  good. 
3 


DEDICATION. 


How  pure  the  pleasure  that  pervades  the  mind, 
.     When  Cowper's  verse,  and  Gray's  elegiac  strain 
Steal  o'er  the  heart, — and  with  a  sense  refin'd 
Of  calm  enjoyment,  o'er  each  feeling  reign: 
And  thus  from  age  to  age  shall  they  remain, 
Alike  to  youth  and  hoary  wisdom  dear. 

Oh!  what  compar'd  with  these,  can  man  obtain 
From  all  the  triumphs  of  that  proud  career, 
By  which  the  warrior  trusts  his  monument  to  rear. 

Survey  mankind, — and  say  if  there  be  aught 
In  all  their  schemes  and  their  ambitious  views, 

More  worthy  of  a  mind  by  wisdom  taught, 
Than  are  the  labours  of  the  virtuous  muse: 
Oh!  who  would  fashion  or  ambition  choose, 

To  guide  his  steps  thro'  life's  bewildering  maze, 
If  in  his  heart  the  minstrel  might  infuse 

That  taste  for  wisdom  and  for  virtue's  ways, 

Which  lift  above  the  crowd,  its  censure  and  its  praise, 

Tho'  such  the  minstrel's  aim,  he  fears  this  verse 

May  prove  unworthy  of  the  high  design, 
The  charms  of  truth  and  virtue  to  rehearse, 

The  heart  to  soften,  and  the  soul  refine; 

Yet  does  he  not  affect  with  those  to  shine, 
The  mighty  masters  of  the  tuneful  art; 

Content,  if  in  his  verse  some  touching  line 
A  love  for  nature  and  for  truth  impart, 
Or  feed  devotion's  flame,  within  the  youthful  heart. 
Occoquan,  Fa.  1838. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  LENAPE. 


The  incidents  in  this  poem  were  related  to  the  author  by  his 
valued  friend  Dr.  Joseph  Parrish,  of  Philadelphia,  who  derived 
them  from  a  tradition  preserved  in  his  family.  They  took  place 
about  the  year  1683. 

PART  I. 

THE  LANDING. 

ON  Delaware's  majestic  stream 

A  stately  ship  appears, 
Around  her  bows  the  foaming  spray 
Is  dashing,  as  upon  her  way 

With  upward  course  she  steers. 

Upon  her  deck  may  you  behold 

A  group  of  pilgrims  stand, 
The  old  and  young  are  gather' d  there, 
The  matron  and  the  maiden  fair, 

A  meek,  devoted  band. 


24  THE    LAST    OF   THE    LENAPE. 

With  eager  eyes  they  gaze  around, 

This  promis'd  land  to  see, 
To  these  lone  solitudes  they  come,, 
To  seek  a  peaceful  quiet  home, 
From  persecution  free. 

Full  well  they  know  the  Indian  dwells 

In  native  wildness  here; 
But  safe  in  God's  protecting  hand, 
Who  call'd  them  from  their  native  land, 

Their  hearts  are  void  of  fear. 

Oh!  what  emotions  new  and  strange, 

Within  their  bosoms  rise, 
As  yon  dense  forest,  wild  and  green, 
So  different  from  the  cultur'd  scene 

Of  Britain,  meets  their  eyes. 

They  seem  indeed  transported  now, 

To  some  far-distant  sphere, 
Yet  the  same  sun  does  on  them  shine, 
And  the  same  beams  of  love  Divine, 
Their  lonely  bosoms  cheer. 

Among  that  group  a  mother  stands, 
Whose  children,  gather'd  round, 
A  tender  father's  loss  deplore, 
Who,  where  the  ocean  billows  roar, 
A  watery  grave  has  found. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    LENAPE.  25 

Silent  and  sad,  with  grief  absorb'd, 

Unconscious  does  she  stand, 
Her  eyes  the  present  scenes  survey, 
But  ah!  her  thoughts  are  far  away, 

In  her  dear  native  land. 

She  thinks  of  him  forever  dear, 

Whose  home  is  now  above, 
But  to  her  vision  does  he  seem 
As  when  in  youth's  delightful  dream, 

Their  hearts  were  joined  in  love. 

For  even  then  this  distant  clime, 

Had  in  their  views  become 
Another  Eden's  blissful  bower, 
Where  pure  religion's  sacred  flower 

Should  unmolested  bloom. 

Then  did  they  hope  this  favour'd  land 

Their  future  home  would  be, 
Where  life's  pure  stream  would  sweetly  glide, 
Until  it  mingled  with  the  tide 

Of  blest  eternity. 

But  ah!  how  soon  that  dear  support 

From  her  embrace  is  wrung, 
And  like  a  tender  vine,  is  she 
Bereft  of  that  protecting  tree, 

To  which  she  fondly  clung, 
3* 


26  THE    LAST    OF    THE    LENAPE. 

Oh!  lovely  mourner,  grieve  not  thus, 

Lift  up  thine  eyes  and  see,— 
Will  not  that  Being-  who  bestow'd 
This  beauteous  land  for  man's  abode, 
Protect  and  strengthen  thee? 

But  now  the  ship  that  spot  hath  gain'd 

Beneath  the  pine  trees  shade, 
Where,  on  the  noble  river's  strand, 
Penn's  virgin  city  soon  shall  stand, 
In  modest  garb  array'd. 

"  Oh!  mother  see!  a  warrior  comes," 

The  wondering  children  cry: 
With  a  proud  step  he  seems  to  tread, — 
Erect  his  form, — and  o'er  his  head 
Are  feathers  waving  high. 

A  hatchet  in  his  belt  he  wears, 

Which  has  with  blood  been  stained, 
And  now  he  launches  on  the  tide, 
And  soon  the  gallant  vessel's  side 
His  swift  canoe  has  gain'd. 

And  on  the  lofty  vessel's  deck, 

Lenape's  chieftain  springs, 
He  comes  to  welcome  them  ashore, 
And  venison  a  plenteous  store 
In  his  canoe  he  brings. 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    LENAFE.  27 

He  looks  around,  and  soon  espies 

The  \vidow'd  mother  there, 
And  with  a  nice  discernment  blest, 
He  singles  her  from  all  the  rest, 

For  his  protecting  care. 

"  Daughter  of  Onas,"  said  the  chief, 

"  Shed  not  the  mournful  tear, 
By  the  Good  Spirit  am  I  sent, 
And  his  the  blessings  I  present, 

Thy  lonely  heart  to  cheer. 

"  What  tho'  no  house  nor  wigwam  yet 

Hath  been  prepar'd  for  thee; 
Where  yon  high  bank  o'erlooks  the  wave, 
There  is  a  safe,  secluded  cave, 

Where  thou  mayest  shelter'd  be." 

Conducted  by  their  warrior  guide, 

Within  the  cave  they  come ; 
And  now  from  long  confinement  free, 
The  joyous  children  shout  for  glee, 

Delighted  with  their  home. 

As  when  a  bird  her  nest- would  build, 

In  some  secure  retreat, 
Dry  leaves  and  grass  are  strew'd  within, 
And  at  the  door  a  leafy  screen 

Shuts  out  the  noon-day  heat. 


28  THE    LAST    OF    THE    LENAPE. 

There,  blest  with  piety  and  love, 
Their  peaceful  days  are  spent ; 
No  baron  in  his  palace  home, 
Nor  king  beneath  his  gilded  dome, 
Is  half  so  well  content. 

Oh!  soul-sustaining  piety, 

In  mercy  art  thou  given, 
O'er  every  sea,  man's  bark  to  guide, 
Whether  with  favouring  gales  supplied, 

Or  by  the  tempest  driven. 

Whether  in  sunny  climes  becalm'd, 
Or  wrapp'd  in  arctic  gloom, 

Thro*  every  scene  canst  thou  sustain. 

Until  that  final  port  we  gain 

Where  storms  shall  never  come. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  LENAPE. 

PART  II. 
THE  FIRST  WINTER. 

THE  Indian  summer  now  is  past, 

The  forest  leaves  are  sear, 
The  fruits  of  autumn  strew  the  ground, 
And  hollow  winds,  with  dreary  sound, 

Proclaim  the  winter  near. 

Within  the  cave  the  matron  dwelt, 

Summer  and  autumn  through; 
Tho'  oft  her  faith  was  sorely  tried, 
Yet  still  by  Providence  supplied 
With  food  in  season  due. 

The  Indian,  faithful  to  his  trust, 

His  proffer'd  word  fulfill'd; 
The  "  lone  one"  did  he  call  her  then, 
And  never  once  forgot  her,  when 

The  antler' d  deer  he  kill'd. 


30  THE    LAST    OF   THE    LENAPE. 

But  sometimes  fruitless  was  the  chase 

Through  forests  drear  and  wide; 
Then  to  the  cave  the  generous  chief 
Could  bring  her  children  no  relief, 
Nor  for  his  own  provide. 

But  o'er  them  still  does  Heavenly  Love 

Extend  his  guardian  care; 
Above  yon  forests,  waving  high, 
On  rustling  wings,  the  pidgeons  fly, 

And  darken  all  the  air. 

Like  a  vast  cloud  they  settle  down 

On  every  tree  around, 
As  when  in  Israel's  sore  distress 
Upon  the  lonely  wilderness, 

The  flock  of  quails  was  found. 

Yet  ah!  how  different  from  the  meat 

To  murmuring  Israel  given ; 
For  that  became  their  punishment, 
While  this  to  thankful  hearts  is  sent, 
A  gracious  boon  from  heaven. 

Now  winter,  riding  on  the  blast, 

Comes  wrapp'd  in  clouds  and  gloom,- 
The  laughing  rills  are  hushed, — and  all 
The  fairest  plants  of  nature  fall, 
Dismantled  of  their  bloom. 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    LENAPE.  3l 

Whence  shall  they  now  their  food  procure  ? 

The  feather'd  flocks  have  flown, 
The  fish  are  in  the  frozen  floods, 
The  deer  are  in  the  distant  woods, 

And  cattle  they  have  none. 

As  thus,  with  gloomy  thoughts  oppress'd, 

Wears  on  the  wintry  day, — 
While  Christmas-eve  is  drawing  near, 
They  think  upon  the  joyous  cheer 

Of  Britain,  far  away. 

Transported  to  that  distant  scene 

By  fancy's  magic  power, 
They  hear  the  greeting  of  their  friends. 
And  see  the  gladness  that  attends 

The  happy  evening  hour. 

But  soon  their  wandering  thoughts,  call'd  home, 

Those  genial  scenes  must  leave; 
No  kindred  greetings  do  they  hear, 
Nor  have  they  aught  of  joyous  cheer, 

To  glad  the  lingering  eve. 

Let  not  your  hearts  in  grief  despond, 

A  guardian  Power  is  nigh ; 
For  he  who  gives  the  sparrows  food, 
And  watches  o'er  the  raven's  brood, 

Will  hear  the  orphan's  cry. 


32 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    LENAPE. 

Hark  now!  that  trampling  thro'  the  snow! 

Your  Indian  friend  has  come ; 
Laden  with  venison  and  corn, 
And  berries  from  the  forests  borne, 

He  seeks  the  widow's  home. 

"Daughter  of  Onas,"  said  the  chief, 

"  God  has  been  good  to  me; 
He  blest  me  while  I  sought  for  game, 
And  this,  which  from  his  bounty  came, 

He  bade  me  bring  to  thee." 

With  gratitude  they  welcome  in 

The  generous-hearted  chief; 
But,  most  of  all,  they  bless  that  Power 
Who  sent  them,  in  the  needful  hour, 

Such  opportune  relief. 

Thus  did  the  heavenly  Father's  care 

Their  fainting  hearts  sustain, 
And  shield  them  from  the  wintry  blast* 
Until  the  gladsome  spring,  at  last 

Came  smiling  o'er  the  plain* 

Oh!  Heavenly  Love!  while  in  our  hearts. 

Thy  righteous  sceptre  sways, 
In  desert  plains  will  fountains  spring, 
And  cause  the  lonely  heart  to  sing, 

With  gratitude  and  praise. 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    LENAPE.  33 

"  Beauty  for  ashes,"  dost  thou  give, 

"The  oil  of  joy  for  woe," 
The  darkest  hours  canst  thou  illume, 
And  cause  the  wilderness  to  bloom 

A  paradise  below. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  LENAPE. 

PART  III. 
THE  CONCLUSION. 

FROM  groves  array 'd  in  vernal  green 

The  notes  of  joy  resound, 
The  grass  puts  forth, — the  wild  flowers  spring, 
And  orchard  trees  are  blossoming, 

In  gay  profusion  round. 

The  widow'd  mother  now  comes  forth, 

And  leaves  her  lone  retreat; 
A  friend  who  sought  the  ocean  wave, 
To  her  his  humble  dwelling  gave, 

A  cottage  fair  and  neat. 

With  cheerful  hearts,  her  duteous  sons 

Their  rural  tasks  assume; 
The  fruitful  fields  with  care  they  till, 
And  garden  spot, — whose  roses  fill 

The  air  with  sweet  perfume. 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    LENAPE.  35 

In  rural  labours  crown'd  with  peace, 

Their  prosperous  lives  were  spent; 
For  while  with  care  they  till'd  their  lands, 
To  grateful  hearts,  and  willing  hands, 

Were  fruitful  seasons  sent. 

Their  race  a  noble  tree  became, 

Enrich'd  with  golden  fruit; 
Its  branches  were  extended  wide. 
For  filial  piety  supplied 

The  nurture  of  its  root. 

But  where  is  he,  who  that  fair  tree, 

Protected  while  it  rose, — 
Does  he  partake  its  fruit  mature? 
Or  in  declining  life,  secure, 

Beneath  its  shade  repose? 

Yes,  still  within  their  grateful  hearts 

The  Indian's  name  was  dear: 
They  sought  his  wigwam  distant  far, 
And  friendship's  bright,  benignant  star, 

His  evening  hour  did  cheer. 

His  memory  too  was  handed  down 

From  grateful  sire  to  son; 
But  like  the  frost  in  morning's  ray, 
So  did  his  tribe  all  melt  away, 

Till  there  was  left, — but  one. 


36  THE    LAST    OF    THE    LENAPE. 

That  one, — sad  relic  of  a  tribe, 

Now  pass'd  from  earth  away, 
They  brought  to  their  own  home,' — and  there 
They  cherish'd  her  with  pious  care 

Till  life's  last  closing  day. 

Where  Brandywine  rolls  sweetly  by, 

Is  her  last  resting  place; 
And  wild  flowers  now  are  blooming  round, 
To  mark  the  sole  memorial  found 

Of  that  departed  race. 

And  oft  at  evening's  pensive  hour, 

In  thoughtful  mood  reclined, 
While  musing  on  those  scenes  long  past, 
We  feel  their  deep'ning  shadows  cast 

A  sadness  o'er  the  mind. 

The  lofty  forest  trees  are  gone 

From  Schuylkill's  rocky  shore; 
But  ah!  a  nobler  race  than  they 
From  Penn's  fair  land  has  pass'd  away, 
And  shall  return  no  more. 

Some  rooted  up, — and  some  by  force 

Transplanted  far  away: 
Like  oaks  whose  blasted  tops  are  dead, 
And  all  their  leafy  honours  shed 

In  premature  decay. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    LENAPE.  37 

Children  of  Onas!  do  they  not 

Deserve  our  fostering  aid? 
Our  father's,  once  a  feeble  band, 
While  strangers  in  a  foreign  land, 

Repos'd  beneath  their  shade.. 


4* 


NOTES. 


IT  is  stated  in  Watson's  Annals  of  Philadelphia,  that  the  tribe 
of  Indians  first  found  about  the  regions  of  the  river  Delaware,  and 
thence  called  the  Delawares,  never  used  that  name  among  them 
selves;  they  called  themselves  Lenni  Lcnape,  which  means  "tho 
original  people" — Lenni,  meaning  "original." 


Page  24— verse  2nd. 

"Full  well  they  know  the  Indian  dwells 
In  native  wildness  here." 

Richard  Townsend  in  his  "Testimony  showing  the  providential 
hand  of  God  to  him  and  others,  from  the  first  settlement  of  Penn 
sylvania  to  this  day,"  (about  the  year  1727,)  thus  speaks  of  the 
Indians  : 

"At  our  arrival  (1682)  we  found  it  a  wilderness;  the  chief  in- 
-habitants  were  Indians,  and  some  Swedes,  who  received  us  in  a 
friendly  manner, — and  though  there  was  a  great  number  of  us, 
the  good  hand  of  Providence  was  seen  in  a  particular  manner,  in 
that  provisions  were  found  for  us  by  the  Swedes  and  Indians,  at 
very  reasonable  rates,  as  well  as  brought  from  divers  other  parts 
that  were  inhabited  before.  And  as  our  worthy  proprietor  treated 
the  Indians  with  extraordinary  humanity,  they  became  very  civil 
and  loving  to  us,  and  brought  in  abundance  of  venison.  As  in 


40  NOTES. 

other  countries,  the  Indians  were  exasperated  by  hard  treatment, 
which  hath  been  the  foundation  of  much  bloodshed,  so  the  contrary 
treatment  hath  produced  their  love  and  affection." — Fraud's  His 
tory,  vol.  1,  page  229. 

Page  24 — verse  2nd. 
"But  safe  in  God's  protecting  hand, 
Who  call'd  them  from  their  native  land, 

Their  hearts  are  void  of  fear." 

It  appears  that  many  of  the  first  settlers  of  this  colony,  consi. 
dered  themselves  called  to  the  undertaking  by  higher  motives  than 
merely  to  better  their  temporal  condition.  William  Penn  thus 
speaks  of  his  own  motives.  "I  eye  the  Lord  in  the  obtaining  the 
country;  and  as  I  have  so  obtained,  I  desire  I  may  not  be  unworthy 
of  his  love,  but  do  that  which  may  answer  his  kind  providence 
and  serve  his  truth  and  people,  that  an  example  may  be  set  up  to 
the  nations.  There  may  be  room  there  though  not  here  (in  Eng 
land)  for  such  an  holy  experiment." — Watson's  Annals,  page  60. 

Richard  Townsend  says,  "Our/rsi  concern  was  to  keep  up  and 
maintain  our  religious  worship,  and  in  order  thereunto,  we  had 
several  meetings  in  the  houses  of  the  inhabitants;  and  one  boarded 
meeting  house  was  set  up  where  the  city  was  to  be,  near  Delaware, 
and  as  we  had  nothing  but  love  and  good-will  in  our  hearts,  one 
to  another,  we  had  very  comfortable  meetings,  from  time.to  time; 
and  after  our  meetings  were  over,  we  assisted  each  other  in  build 
ing  houses  for  our  shelter."— Fraud's  History,  vol.  1. 

Page  24 — verse  5th. 
"Among  that  group  a  mother  stands." 

The  mother  here  alluded  to  was  Hannah  Chandler,  who  lost 
her  husband  on  the  passage,  and  being  left  with  ten  small  children, 


NOTES.  41 

she  arrived  at  the  colony  in  much  distress,  but  was  kindly  pro 
vided  for  by  the  Indians. 

Some  of  the  same  incidents  are  related  in  Watson's  Annals, 
page  70. 


Page  26 — verse  2nd. 

"  But  now  the  ship  that  spot  hath  gain'd 

Beneath  the  pine  trees  shade, 
Where,  on  the  noble  river's  strand, 
Penn's  virgin  city  soon  shall  stand, 

In  modest  garb  array'd." 

The  spot  where  Philadelphia  now  stands,  fronting  on  the  Dela 
ware,  was  at  the  time  of  its  settlement,  a  high  bank  covered  with 
lofty  pines.  In  this  bank  some  of  the  first  colonists  excavated  caves 
for  a  temporary  residence,  until  they  could  erect  dwellings.  Some 
of  these  caves  remained  for  a  long  time,  and  a  full  account  of  them 
may  be  seen  in  Watson's  Annals,  page  159.  They  are  also  men 
tioned  in  Proud' s  History,  vol.  1,  page  225. 

Penn's  "virgin  city"  is  thus  spoken  of  by  her  founder  in  a  vale 
dictory  letter  to  his  friends,  written  in  1684,  from  on  board  the 
ship  on  his  departure  for  England.  "And  thou  Philadelphia,  the 
virgin  settlement  of  this  province,  named  before  thou  wert  born, 
what  love,  what  care,  what  service,  and  what  travail,  has  there  been 
to  bring  thee  forth,  and  preserve  thee  from  such  as  would  abuse 
and  defile  thee.  Oh!  that  thou  mayst  be  kept  from  the  evil  that 
would  overwhelm  thee;  that,  faithful  to  the  God  of  thy  mercies,  in 
the  life  of  righteousness,  thou  mayst  be  preserved  to  the  end:  my 
soul  prays  to  God  for  thee,  that  thou  mayst  stand  in  the  day  of 
trial,  that  thy  children  may  be  blessed  of  the  Lord,  and  thy  people 
saved  by  his  power;  my  love  to  thee  has  been  great,  and  the  re- 


42  NOTES. 

membrance  of  thee  affects  mine  heart  and  mine  eye !  The  God 
of  eternal  strength  keep  and  preserve  thee,  to  his  glory  and  thy 
peace." — Proud* 's  History,  vol.  1. 


Page  27 — verse  2nd. 
"Daughter  of  Onas,  said  the  chief." 

H.  St.  John,  in  his  description  of  Pennsylvania,  thus  speaks  of 
the  name  given  by  the  Indians  to  William  Penn:  "He  treated  the 
natives  like  brothers,  and  these  natives  forgetting  their  ferocity 
and  the  hatred  they  bore  to  all  Europeans,  have  never  ceased  to 
love  and  respect  the  Friends.  They  gave  to  Penn  the  name  of 
Onas,  (father)  which  some  of  their  principal  chiefs  also  bear  to 
this  day." 

Page  28 — verse  1st. 

"  No  baron  in  his  palace  home, 
Nor  king  beneath  his  gilded  dome, 
Is  half  so  well  content." 

This  stanza  sounds  to  the  author  like  an  imitation  of  something 
he  has  read,  but  he  cannot  tell  where.  It  is  very  possible  that  a 
near  resemblance  or  coincidence  of  ideas  may  sometimes  occur  in 
different  authors,  where  there  is  no  intention  of  borrowing  without 
due  acknowledgement  from  the  productions  of  others.  So  large  a 
portion  of  our  knowledge  is  necessarily  derived  from  reading,  that 
we  may  unconsciously  at  times  adopt  the  ideas  of  others,  without 
being  able  to  tell  from  whence  they  were  derived. 


NOTES.  43 


Page  29— verse  3rd. 
"The  'lone  one'  did  he  call  her  then." 

This  title  given  by  the  Indians  to  Hannah  Chandler,  has  been 
handed  down  by  tradition  amongst  her  descendants. 

Page  30— verse  2nd. 

"Above  yon  forests,  waving  high, 
On  rustling  wings,  the  pidgeons  fly, 
And  darken  all  the  air." 

So  rapid  was  the  settlement  of  this  province  that  they  must  have 
suffered  greatly  for  provisions,  had  they  not  been  relieved  at  times 
by  the  immense  flocks  of  wild  pidgeons.  "They  came  in  such 
mmbers  that  the  air  was  sometimes  darkened  by  their  flight;  and 
flying  low  they  were  frequently  knocked  down  as  they  flew,  in 
great  quantities,  by  those  who  had  no  other  means  to  take  them 
whereby  they  supplied  themselves;  and  having  salted  those  which 
they  could  not  immediately  use,  they  preserved  them  both  for 
bread  and  meat,»-Proud>s  History,  vol.  1,  page  223 


Page  35  —  verse  5th. 

"But  like  the  frost  in  morning's  ray, 
So  did  his  tribe  all  melt  away, 

Till  there  was  left—  but  one." 
The  "Last  of  the  Lenape,"  nearest  resident  to  Philadelphia, 

county'  in  the  pers°n  °f 


™  *r  county'  n  the  pers°n  °f  "°id  indian  Hannah>- 

803    She  had  her  wigwam  many  years  upon  the  Brandywine, 
and  used  to  travel  much  about  in  selling  her  baskets,  &c,  on  such 


44  NOTES. 

occasions,  she  wa*  often  followed  by  her  dog  and  her  pigs,  all 
stopping  where  she  did.  She  lived  to  be  nearly  one  hundred  years 
of  age— had  a  proud  and  lofty  spirit  to  the  last— hated  the  blacks, 
and  scarcely  brooked  the  lower  orders  of  the  whites.  Her  family 
before  her,  had  dwelt  with  other  Indians  in  Kennett  township. — 
She  often  spoke  emphatically  of  the  wrongs  and  misfortunes  of 
her  race,  upon  whom  her  affections  still  dwelt.  As  she  grew  old, 
she  quitted  her  solitude,  and  dwelt  in  friendly  families. — Wat  son's 
Annals,  page  447. 

In  addition  to  this  information,  I  have  been  told  that  the  fami 
lies  who  took  care  of  this  last  of  her  tribe,  were  descendants  of 
Hannah  Chandler,  who  had  been  so  signally  befriended  by  the 
Indians.  They  buried  her  near  the  forks  of  the  Brandywine,  in 
an  Indian  burying  ground,  distant  eleven  miles  from  the  place 
where  she  died. 


TEWINISSA.* 

PART  I. 
THE  LOST  CHILD. 

WHERE  swift  Esopus  pours  his  flood 

Beside  the  mountains  blue, 
Lefever's  modest  mansion  stood, 

By  forests  hid  from  view. 

*  The  incidents  related  in  this  Poem,  are  derived  from  a  letter 
of  H.  St.  John  de  Crevecoeur,  written  from  Carlisle,  in  Pennsyl 
vania,  in  1773.  He  says  he  was  an  eye  witness  of  the  scene  re 
lated,  and  was  well  acquainted  with  Lefever  and  Tewinissa. 

It  appears  that  Tewinissa  lived  at  an  Indian  village,  called  Ana- 
quaga,  situated  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  river  Susquehanna,  in 
Pennsylvania.  Lefever  lived  near  the  river  Esopus,  at  the  foot  of 
the  Blue  Ridge,  in  Ulster  county,  New  York.  He  was  the  grand 
son  of  a  Frenchman  who  was  obliged  to  abandon  his  country  at 
the  time  of  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  The  writer 
above  mentioned,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  Indians,  says 
that  the  instance  here  related  was  the  first  time  he  ever  knew  one 
to  shed  tears.  He  says  the  young  Lefever,  when  he  grew  up  to 
5 


46  TEWINISSA. 

'Twas  in  a  valley,  rich  and  fair, 

By  hills  encompass'd  round, 
And  many  a  wolf  and  panther's  lair 

Among  their  shades  was  found. 

A  wife  belov'd,  Lefever  had, 

And  children  ten  had  they; 
The  youngest  one,  a  prattling  lad, 

Was  beautiful  and  gay. 

Like  evening's  last  and  loveliest  beam, 

This  gift  of  heaven  appears, 
Dispensing  gladness  o'er  the  stream 

Of  their  departing  years. 

At  eventide,  replete  with  joy, 

How  glide  the  hours  away, 
Whilst  old  Lefever  and  his  boy 

Engage  in  mirthful  play. 

And  when  upon  the  grassy  lawn 

Appear  the  dew-drops  bright, 
That  boy  is  up  at  earliest  dawn, 

And  carols  with  delight. 

manhood,  never  abandoned  the  name  which  was  given  him  on  this 
occasion.  He  signed  his  name  Tewinissa  Lefever;  and  he  went  to 
the  Indian  village  and  adopted  as  his  brother,  one  of  Tewinissa's 
sons,  who  bore  the  same  name. 


TEWINISSA.  47 

But  o'er  this  scene,  alas!  too  soon, 

Did  clouds  of  sorrow  come; 
The  child  one  summer  day  at  noon 

Is  missing  from  his  home. 

The  parents  search  on  every  hand, 

And  neighbours  kindly  aid, 
Thro'  field  and  forest  spread  the  band, 

And  thro'  the  mountain  glade. 

Meanwhile  the  parents  moan  and  grieve, 

And  call  their  boy  in  vain, 
Until  the  darksome  shades  of  eve, 

Come  stealing  o'er  the  plain. 

Alas!  the  sorrowing  parents  say, 

Our  darling  boy  is  gone; 
On  him  will  wolves  or  panthers  prey, 

Before  the  morning's  dawn. 

And  thus  the  lingering  hours  are  past, 

Throughout  the  livelong  night, 
Each  hour  seems  darker  than  the  last, 

From  eve  till  morning's  light. 

And  when  the  morning's  light  is  come, 

No  tidings  do  they  hear; 
And  dark  and  dreary  is  their  home, 

Bereft  of  one  so  dear. 


48  TEWINISSA. 

But  now  an  Indian's  form  they  see, 

Forth  from  the  forest  glide, 
A  large  and  faithful  dog  has  he, 

That  frolics  by  his  side. 

\:  ' -*'.:^ ..''••'.T-  ',, Y'V 
Towards  Lefever's  house  he  came, 

And  sought  his  friendly  door; 
And  Tewinissa  was  the  name 
The  welcome  stranger  bore. 

He  sees  the  parents'  deep  distress, 

And  hears  them  vainly  mourn; 
"  Go  bring  to  me,"  the  Indian  says, 

"A  shoe  the  boy  has  worn." 

He  tells  his  dog  to  smell  the  shoe, 

And  seek  the  infant's  trail; 
The  dog  looks  up  as  tho'  he  knew, 

And  felt  the  mournful  tale. 

And  now  they  take  a  circuit  round, 
TQ  seek  the  absent  boy, 

soon  the  dog  his  trail  has  found, 
And  barking,  springs  for  joy. 

Away  they  went  thro'  field  and  wood, 

Their  hearts  were  fill'd  with  glee, 
And  soon  beside  the  child  they  stood, 

Beneath  a  spreading  tree. 


TEWIMSSA.  49 

There  did  he  lie, — and  safe  from  harm, 

By  gentle  sleep  o'ercome; 
The  Indian  laid  him  on  his  arm, 

And  softly  bore  him  home. 

What  transport  fill'd  the  father's  breast, 

The  mother  wept  for  joy; 
The  Indian  to  their  hearts  they  press'd, 

And  kiss'd  their  darling  boy. 

"  What  shall  I  give,"  the  father  said, 

"To  recompense  thy  care?" 
The  Indian  turn'd  away  his  head, 

To  hide  a  starting  tear. 

Then  in  his  native  lustre  shone, 

The  red  man  wild  and  free; 
"  Thy  wealth,"  he  said,  "  I  would  not  own, 

Nor  wages  take  from  thee, 

"Give  me  thy  hand, — and  when  we  part, 

Think  of  me  while  away; 
None  but  the  treasures  of  the  heart, 

For  works  of  love  can  pay." 

"  Oh,  let  me  then  thy  kindred  claim, 

My  brother  thou  shalt  be; 
I'll  call  this  boy  by  thy  dear  name, 

And  may  he  be  like  thee." 

5* 


50  TEWINISSA. 

Parental  love!  how  dost  thou  fill 
Our  hearts  with  joy  or  woe; 

Thy  throb  of  grief, — thy  joyful  thrill, 
Can  parents  only  know. 

In  his  impetuous,  wild  career, 
The  thoughtless  youth  may  rove, 

Nof*  heed  a  father's  watchful  care, 
Nor  prize  a  mother's  love. 

But  when  he  comes,  in  after  years, 

To  act  the  parent's  part, 
He  knows  the  hopes  and  anxious  fears 

That  fill  a  father's  heart. 

And  oh!  if  death  before  that  day, 
His  parents  should  remove, 

How  shall  he  then  the  debt  repay, 
Of  all  their  care  and  love. 

May  then  each  dear  ingenuous  youth? 

To  heaven  direct  his  prayer, 
A  tender  mother's  heart  to  soothe, 

And  bless  a  father's  care. 


TEWINISSA. 

PART  II. 
THE  BROTHERS. 

His  neighbours  now  are  gather'd  round 

Lefever's  festive  board; 
There  Tewinissa  too  is  found, 

And  there  the  boy  restor'd. 

"  Behold,  my  friends  and  neighbours  dear," 

'Twas  thus  Lefever  spake, 
"  I  call  on  you  to  witness  here, 

The  covenant  I  make. 

"  Henceforth  my  brother,  by  thy  name 

This  boy  shall  be  address'd; 
And  by  this  wampum's  sacred  claim, 

I  bind  ihee  to  my  breast. 


52  TEWINISSA. 

"  My  wife  and  I  the  staff  deplor'd, 

Of  our  declining  years; 
Thou  hast  to  us  that  staff  restor'd, 

And  dried  our  flowing  tears. 

"  Should  dark  affliction  o'er  thy  home, 

A  wintry  tempest  bring, 
Then  mayst  thou  here,  my  brother,  come, 

And  find  the  bloom  of  spring. 

"  For  here  affection's  flowers  shall  be, 
Their  sweets  diffusing  round; 

A  wigwam  will  I  build  for  thee, 
On  thy  own  native  ground. 

"  No  land  do  I  presume  to  give, 
Thy  wanderings  to  restrain, 

For  here  did  thy  forefathers  live, 
And  here  mayst  thou  remain. 

"  Shouldst  thou  or  sick  or  wounded  be, 

My  aid  will  I  impart, 
For  thou  hast  been  a  friend  to  me, 

And  heal'd  my  bleeding  heart. 

"  And  when  thy  faithful  dog  no  more 

Can  chase  the  fleeting  deer, 
Then  let  him  seek  Lefever's  door, 

And  find  a  shelter  here." 


TEWINISSA.  53 

While  thus  the  good  Lefever  spoke, 

His  friends  admiring  stood; 
At  length  the  Indian  silence  broke, 

And  thus  the  theme  pursued. 

"  Brother !  thy  belt  of  wampum  hath 

Fast  bound  this  heart  of  mine, 
And  with  its  folds  I  sweep  the  path, 

Between  my  home  and  thine. 

"  What  tho'  of  different  blood  we  be, 

My  fire  has  thine  become; 
Its  smoke  ascending  thou  shalt  see, 

To  guide  thee  to  my  home. 

"  Nought  have  I  done  thy  heart  to  cheer, 

Thou  wouldst  not  do  for  me; 
'Twas  the  Good  Spirit  led  me  here, 

And  his  the  praise  should  be. 

"  This  wampum  now,  my  brother,  take, 

And  hand  it  to  thy  boy, 
And  may  our  sons  like  us  partake 

The  pipe  of  peace  and  joy." 

• 

Such  was  the  league  contracted  then, 

Between  these  friends  so  true, 
And  like  the  treaty  made  with  Penn, 

Forever  kept  in  view. 


54  TEWINISSA. 

The  scene  has  changed, — too  bright  to  last 
While  months  and  years  roll'd  o'er; 

The  good  Lefever  too  has  past, 
To  an  eternal  shore. 

And  now  the  aged  Indian  lies 

On  his  expiring  bed; 
To  him  the  young  Lefever  flies, 

By  love  and  duty  led. 

"  I  come,"  he  says,  "  to  urge  my  claim 

Fraternal  to  thy  son, 
We  both  have  borne  thy  honour' d  name, 

Then  may  our  hearts  be  one. 

"  Existence  do  I  owe  to  thee, 

For  thou  my  life  didst  save, 
Then  let  thy  son  my  brother  be, 

When  thou  art  in  the  grave." 

For  them  the  pious  Indian  sent 

To  heaven  his  last  request, 
Then  calmly  clos'd  his  eyes,  and  went 

To  his  eternal  rest. 

Oh!  love  fraternal!  seldom  met 

On  earth  so  pure  as  this, 
How  dost  thou  soften  each  regret, 

And  sweeten  every  bliss. 


TEWINISSA.  55 

When  back  we  look  o'er  pleasures  past, 

As  from  some  rising  ground, 
The  pausing  traveller  would  cast 

His  eyes  on  scenes  around; 

How  bright  to  memory's  view  appear, 

Those  spots  forever  green; 
Where  brothers  kind  and  sisters  dear, 

Around  our  paths  have  been. 

Oh!  scenes  of  youthful  happiness, 

While  hearts  were  warm  and  true, 
When  sorrows  come  and  cares  oppress, 

We  sigh,  and  think  of  you. 

Who  thus  at  noon  of  life  can  stand, 

And  backward  cast  his  gaze, 
Nor  miss  some  member  of  a  band, 

Beloved  in  early  days. 

Some  friend  in  whom  his  heart  repos'd, 

Has  run  his  brief  career; 
The  grave  has  o'er  a  brother  clos'd, 

Or  youthful  sister  dear. 

• 

By  all  the  joys  that  once  have  been, 

And  all  the  ties  of  love, 
They  call  us  from  the  present  scene, 

And  fix  our  thoughts  above. 


56  TEWINISSA. 

Tho'  days  of  storm  and  nights  of  gloom, 
May  blight  our  prospects  here, 

The  flowers  of  virtue  ever  bloom, 
In  that  eternal  sphere. 


TEWINISSA. 

PART  III. 
THE  APPEAL. 

OH!  where  is  now  that  mighty  band. 

Who  liv'd  in  days  of  yore, 
Who  met  our  fathers  on  the  strand, 

And  welcom'd  them  ashore. 

Who  roam'd  the  trackless  wild  for  meat, 

Their  hunger  to  appease, 
Who  spread  for  them  the  fur-clad  seat, 

And  brought  the  pipe  of  peace. 

Alas!  those  hearts  so  kind  and  true, 

Have  found  their  final  rest, 
And  their  descendants,  weak  and  few, 

Are  in  the  distant  west. 
6 


58  TEWINISSA. 

The  tide  of  emigration,  strong 

As  ocean's  rolling  waves, 
Still  bears  their  shatter'd  barks  along, 

Far  from  their  fathers'  graves. 

Shall  not  my  countrymen  awake, 

And  stop  this  sad  career? 
Are  there  no  hearts  for  mercy's  sake, 

To  pour  the  pitying  tear? 

No  friendly  arm  does  there  remain, 

That  feeble  band  to  save? 
Alas!  the  lust  of  power  and  gain, 

Have  mark'd  them  for  the  grave. 

Now  like  the  partridge  on  the  hills, 
They  change  their  place  in  vain; 

Or  like  the  deer  the  huntsman  kills, 
Unpitied  are  they  slain. 

In  vain  for  them,  to  hearts  of  steel 

We  urge  our  earnest  prayer; 
Oh!  let  us  then  to  you  appeal, 

The  young,— -the  good, — the  fair. 

If  broken  faith,  and  honour  stain'd, 

And  violated  laws, 
Your  generous  hearts  have  griev'd  and  pain'd, 

Stand  forth  and  plead  their  cause. 


TEWINISSA.  59 

Not  as  the  world  for  suffering  pleads, 

Opposing  force  to  force, 
But  as  the  meek  Redeemer  leads 

In  mercy's  gentle  course. 

For  oh!  the  cries  of  their  distress 

May  even  yet  be  heard, 
If  urged  by  youthful  tenderness, 

And  love's  persuasive  word. 

And  let  our  prayers  on  high  ascend, 

His  favour  to  secure, 
Who  is  the  homeless  wanderer's  friend, 

And  watches  o'er  the  poor. 

But  oh!  my  country,  where  will  be 

Thy  confidence  and  trust, 
Should  days  of  vengeance  come  to  thee, 

In  retribution  just. 

May  He  who  rules  in  power  on  high, 

Avert  that  fatal  day, 
Teach  thee  to  hear  the  mourner's  sigh, 

And  wipe  his  tears  away. 


A   NIGHT   SCENE 

AMONG    THE    MOUNTAINS    OF    VIRGINIA. 


How  calm  and  glorious  is  the  hour  of  night, 

In  these  uncultur'd  solitary  wilds, 
When  o'er  each  lowly  vale  and  lofty  height, 

The  full-orb'd  moon  in  cloudless  lustre  smiles. 

Those  lofty  mountains  with  their  forests  green, 
And  craggy  summits  towering  to  the  sky, 

How  proudly  do  they  rise  o'er  all  the  scene, 
And  lift  the  mind  from  earth  to  muse  on  high. 

And  yon  pure  rivulet  that  pours  along, 

Playing  and  sparkling  in  the  moonbeams  clear, 

How  sweet  the  music  of  its  vesper  song, 
In  changeful  cadence  falls  upon  the  ear. 

And  hark!  the  roar  of  those  far-spreading  woods. 
Sinking  or  rising  as  the  wind  sweeps  by; 

Myriads  of  voices  fill  these  solitudes, 
And  send  the  notes  of  melody  on  high. 


A    NIGHT    SCENE.  61 

While  all  His  works  with  one  accord  rejoice, 
And  pour  forth  praises  to  the  Great  Supreme, 

Shall  man,  unmov'd,  withhold  his  nobler  voice, 
Nor  glow  with  rapture  on  the  glorious  theme. 

His  bounteous  goodness  all  creation  fills, 

Even  these  wild  woods  where  solitude  prevails, 

He  sends  his  dews  upon  the  untrodden  hills, 
And  flowers  he  scatters  o'er  the  lonely  vales. 

Scenes  unfrequented  by  the  feet  of  men. 

Display  his  goodness  and  proclaim  his  might; 
He  feeds  the  wild  deer  in  the  secret  glen, 

And  the  young  eagles  on  the  craggy  height. 

His  mighty  hand  the  vivid  lightning  speeds, 

And  bursts  the  clouds  that  o'er  the  hills  impend; 

The  mountain  stream  thro'  distant  lands  he  leads, 
While  joy  and  melody  his  steps  attend. 

To  trace  his  wonders  thro'  each  varying  clime, 
And  all  his  mercies  to  the  sons  of  men, 

Fills  the  rapt  soul  with  ecstasy  sublime, 
Beyond  the  efforts  of  the  poet's  pen. 

Oh!  solitude,  how  blissful  are  the  hours, 
Among  thy  shades  in  heavenly  musing  past, 

When  nature  leads  us  thro'  her  secret  bowers, 
And  contemplation  spreads  the  rich  repast. 
6* 


62  '  A    NIGHT    SCENE. 

Among  the  haunts  of  men,  the  thoughtful  mind 
That  fain  would  rise  above  the  things  of  earth, 

Finds  her  bold  flights  on  every  hand  confin'd, 
By  care  distracted,  and  seduc'd  by  mirth. 

But  in  the  deep  and  solemn  hour  of  night, 
The  soul  luxuriates  in  a  scene  like  this, 

From  cliff  to  cliff  she  wings  her  daring  flight, 
O'er  foaming  cataract,  or  dark  abyss.* 

Or  else,  uplifted  o'er  the  things  of  time, 

By  heavenly  faith  from  all  her  bonds  set  free, 

Among  the  fields  of  ether  soars  sublime, 
And  holds  communion  with  the  Deity. 

Oh!  how  transporting  is  the  glorious  thought, 

That  He,  whose  power  upholds  yon  worlds  above, 

Is  ever  nigh,  and  ever  found  when  sought, 
To  save  and  bless  us  with  a  father's  love. 

Even  His  chastisements  are  with  mercy  fraught, 
And  seal  instruction  on  the  attentive  mind; 

Driven  by  disease,  these  distant  shades  I  sought, 
And  all  the  fruitless  cares  of  life  resign'd. 

*  See  Chataubr land's  description  of  a  night  spent  in  the  de 
serts  of  the  new  world.  He  says,  "  In  this  wilderness  the  soul 
is  delighted  to  plunge  into  an  ocean  of  forests,  to  wander  on  the 
brink  of  immense  lakes,  to  hover  over  the  gulf  of  cataracts,  and 
if  I  may  so  express  myself,  to  find  itself  alone  in  the  presence 
of  the  Deity." 


A    NIGHT    SCENE.  63 

'Twas  then  He  met  me,  and  in  mercy  heal'd 
The  raging  fever  that  my  strength  depress'd; 

His  love  paternal  to  my  soul  reveal'd, 

And  swell* d  the  tide  of  rapture  in  my  hreast. 

Then  oh!  my  soul,  mayst  thou  continual  turn, 
To  Him  whose  power  alone  can  guide  thy  ways, 

May  love  divine  upon  thy  altar  burn, 

And  every  thought  and  feeling  speak  His  praise. 

1829. 


THE   COUNTRY   SCHOOL   HOUSE. 

(A    PRIZE    POEM.) 


NEAR  yonder  oak  that  rears  its  blasted  head, 
Its  aged  trunk  with  verdant  moss  o'ergrown, 

A  School  House  stood,  (that  day  long  since  has  fled,] 
Where  many  an  hour  of  blissful  youth  I've  known. 

It  was  a  lovely  spot  as  e'er  was  found, 

By  nature  form'd  t'  inspire  the  heart  of  youth; 

There  science  might  indulge  in  thought  profound, 
Or  contemplation  soar  to  heavenly  truth. 

A  little  lonely  glen  with  flow'rets  sown, 

Whose  mingled  sweets  the  passing  winds  inhale, 

A  crystal  stream  with  alder  shrubs  o'ergrown, 
Meandering  slowly,  wanders  thro'  the  vale. 

While  all  around  the  mighty  forests  rise, 
Where  nature's  choir  continual  concert  keep, 

And  towering  hills  whose  heads  invade  the  skies, 
And  frowning  rocks  and  precipices  steep. 


THE    COUNTRY   SCHOOL    HOUSE.  65 

When  first  the  east  was  streak'd  with  rosy  red, 

And  bright  Aurora  usher'd  in  the  day, 
Towards  this  spot  have  Edwin's  comrades  sped, 

While  he  reluctant,  linger' d  by  the  way. 

Sometimes  he  wandered  thro'  the  shady  wood, 

To  hear  the  red-bird's  fascinating  lay, 
Or  hung  enraptur'd  o'er  the  crystal  flood, 

Beneath  whose  waves  the  sportive  sun-fish  play. 

Or  else,  perhaps,  more  pleasing  still,  1  trust, 
He  roved  delighted  with  some  youthful  fair, 

Or  sought  the  fountain  to  assuage  her  thirst, 
Or  plucked  the  wild-rose  to  adorn  her  hair. 

Oh!  who  has  felt  the  glow  of  early  love, 
And  in  the  dimpling  smile  discern'd  his  fate, 

Feels  not  wherever  after  he  may  rove, 
This  was  to  him  an  Eden's  blissful  state. 

Oh!  who  has  roam'd  in  rural  scenes  like  this, 
Where  nature's  choir  the  joyful  anthem  pour, 

Nor  tasted  aught  of  more  than  earthly  bliss, 
Nor  felt  his  soul  to  thoughts  sublimer  soar. 

It  is  the  glow  of  youthful  fire  that  lives, 
And  sheds  its  influence  thro'  the  rural  train, 

And  the  blest  charm  of  innocence,  that  gives 
Increas'd  luxuriance  to  the  flowery  plain. 


66  THE    COUNTRY    SCHOOL    HOUSE. 

Oh!  heaven-born  Innocence,  extend  thy  reign, 
And  may  thy  charms  still  more  our  hearts  engage; 

Compar'd  with  thee  what  are  the  fruits  of  gain, 
Or  laurel  wreaths  that  prompt  the  warrior's  rage. 

Not  all  the  praise  on  history's  page  enroll' d, 
Can  stay  the  course  of  man's  expiring  breath, 

Nor  fame's  loud  trump,  nor  ramparts  form'd  of  gold, 
Control  the  ravage  of  the  victor,  death. 

Oh!  no,  'tis  heavenly  truth  alone  can  shed, 
,  Round  man  a  glory  that  shall  never  fade; 
It  forms  a  halo  round  the  Christian's  head, 

That  lights  his  passage  thro'  death's  dreary  shade. 

The  school-boy's  heart  when  roving  thro'  these  fields, 
To  fame's  report,  and  honour's  voice  unknown, 

More  lasting  bliss,  more  true  enjoyment  yields, 
Than  does  ambition  seated  on  a  throne. 

Down  in  the  vale  where  morning's  shades  repose, 
Young  Edwin  sees  the  school  house  rise  to  view, 

Thither  with  listless,  loitering  steps,  he  goes 
The  dull  routine  of  study  to  pursue. 

Oh!  how  they  watch  the  slow  ascending  sun 
Climb  thro'  the  azure  of  the  vaulted  sky; 

And  when  one  half  his  daily  course  is  run, 
To  rural  sports  the  longing  urchins  fly, 


THE    COUNTRY    SCHOOL    HOUSE.  67 

Some  now  are  seen  to  heave  the  whirling  quoit, 
Or  throw  the  bounding  ball  with  nervous  strength; 

Some  thro'  the  woods  pursue  a  comrade's  flight, 
And  'neath  the  shade  some  lie  at  listless  length. 

But  soon,  obedient  to  the  teacher's  call, 

Back  to  the  school  they  slowly  wend  their  way, 

Reluctant  leave  the  chase,  the  quoit,  the  ball, 
And  sylvan  shade  that  seems  to  court  their  stay. 

Dull  flow  the  hours  of  painful  durance  there, 
While  Edwin  plies  his  task,  or  seems  to  ply, 

Or  steals  the  modest  glance  of  maiden  fair, 
Or  views  with  anxious  gaze  the  master's  eye, 

And  when  the  sun,  low  verging  to  the  west, 
Casts  the  long  shades  of  evening  o'er  the  plain, 

With  joy  they  hear  once  more  the  kind  behest, 
That  calls  to  blissful  liberty  again. 

With  many  a  gambol  now  they  homeward  go, 
And  tell  some  tale  of  wonder  by  the  way- — 

Or  loitering,  linger  where  the  wild-flowers  blow, 
Or  watch  the  glories  of  departing  day. 

Where  are  ye  now,  my  friends  of  former  times, 
Where  now  ye  kindred  souls  I  held  so  dear; 

Some  gone  methinks  to  other  distant  climes, 

And  some  perchance  have  clos'd  life's  short  career. 


68  THE    COUNTRY    SCHOOL    HOUSE. 

Like  kindred  drops,  then  flowing  side  by  side, 
We  seem'd  as  destin'd  not  on  earth  to  sever, 

But  soon  some  rock  disparts  affection's  tide, 
And  separates  our  friendly  course  forever. 

Eve's  sable  curtains  now  are  closing  round, 

A  few  faint  stars  display  their  glimmering  light; 

The  whip-poor-will  with  solitary  sound, 

Recalls  my  thoughts  from  scenes  of  past  delight. 

The  flaming  sun  has  slowly  sunk  to  rest, 
And  yields  the  empire  to  the  sable  night, 

But  leaves  the  world,  in  yonder  glowing  west, 
The  mild  refraction  of  his  lingering  light. 

Thus  youth's  bright  flame  must  vanish  from  my  view, 
And  leave  the  gloom  of  darksome  age  behind, 

But  memory  shall  those  blissful  scenes  renew, 
And  shed  its  radiance  o'er  the  glowing  mind. 

The  moon  with  borrowed  splendour  thron'd  on  high, 
Softens  the  shadows  of  approaching  even, 

While  not  a  cloud  that  meets  the  gazing  eye, 
Disturbs  the  mild  serenity  of  heaven. 

Oh!  may  the  close  of  my  expiring  day, 

Be  as  unclouded  and  as  calm  as  this; 
O'er  it  may  hope,  with  mildly  beaming  ray, 

Reflect  the  sunshine  of  eternal  bliss. 
1822. 


POTOMAC. 


POTOMAC  !  how  I  love  at  eve 
Upon  thy  pebbly  shore  to  stand, 

And  see  thy  billows  gently  heave, 
And  roll  and  break  upon  the  strand. 

There  is  a  pensive  feeling  wrought 
By  each  successive  solemn  swell, 

And  many  a  long-lost,  tender  thought, 

Comes  thronging  forth  from  memory's  cell, 

Raised  by  the  zephyr's  gentle  force, 
Thy  billows  roll  towards  the  shore, 

How  beautiful,  but  short  their  course, — 
They  break — and  now  are  seen  no  more. 

My  bosom  too  has  often  heav'd, 
Potomac !  like  thy  wavy  breast, 

With  hopes  and  joys,  I  once  believ'd 
Would  flow  till  life  should  sink  to  rest; 

7 


POTOMAC. 


Call'd  up  by  one  whose  radiant  eye 
Beam'd  with  intelligence  and  power, 

Yet  mild  as  zephyr's  gentlest  sigh, 

When  breath'd  upon  an  opening  flower, 

But  ah!  how  short  a  course  had  they, 
Arrested  soon  by  grief  and  pain, — 

She  like  a  zephyr  pass'd  away, 
And  how  shall  they  arise  again! 

Potomac !  how  I  love,  alone 

And  pensive  by  thy  shores  to  stray, 

When  day's  refulgent  blaze  is  gone, 
And  moonbeams  on  thy  waters  play. 

To  see  the  queen  of  night  ascend, 
With  fleecy  clouds  around  her  furl'd, 

Whilst  yon  bright  sentinels  attend, 
As  if  to  guard  a  slumbering  world. 

The  far  receding  hills  appear 
An  undulating  streak  of  green ; 

And  from  the  watery  surface  clear, 
Reflected,  smiles  the  beauteous  scene. 

All,— all,  is  silent,  save  the  sigh 

Of  night  winds  sweeping  o'er  the  deep, 

Softly  the  murmuring  waves  reply, 
And  then  again  are  hush'd  in  sleep. 


POTOMAC.  71 

From  such  a  noble  scene,  how  springs 
On  rapture's  wing  th'  ethereal  mind, 

Spurns  every  thought  of  earthly  things, 
And  leaves  her  groveling  cares  behind. 

She  mounts  from  radiant  sphere  to  sphere, 
From  all  the  bonds  of  earth  set  free, 

And  feels  His  vital  spirit  near, 
Whose  presence  fills  infinity. 
1824-5. 


JEFFERSON'S    ROCK, 
AT  HARPER'S  FERRY,  VA, 


"  It  is  worth  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic  to  see  these  monu 
ments  of  a  war  between  rivers  and  mountains,  that  must  have 
shaken  the  earth  to  its  centre." — Jefferson's  Notes  on  Virginia. 


FROM  this  huge  rock  high  o'er  the  adjacent  lands, 
How  grand  the  scenes  that  round  us  rise  to  view ; 

So  vast  the  prospect  hence  the  eye  commands, 
The  name  of  Jefferson  is  justly  due. 

While  on  the  south  the  Shenandoah  laves 
The  mountain's  base,  o'erhung  with  tufted  woods,, 

Down  from  the  west,  Potomac's  rolling  waves 
Impetuous  rush  to  meet  their  kindred  floods. 

They  meet  like  allies,  flush'd  with  warlike  pride, 
And  rush  together  on  their  mountain  foe; 

The  mountain  severs, — thro'  the  chasm  wide, 
Tumbling  and  roaring,  down  the  torrents  flow., 


JEFFERSON'S  ROCK.  73 

How  fancy  loves  on  pinions  unconfin'd 
Back  o'er  departed  years  to  roam  afar, 

When  first  these  streams  their  mighty  forces  join'd, 
And  shook  the  globe  with  elemental  war. 

Her  magic  pencil  paints  the  scene  full  bright, 
The  circling  whirlpool  and  the  cascades  bound, 

Stupendous  cliffs,  hurled  from  their  mountain  height, 
And  tumbling  headlong,  shake  the  forests  round. 

Then  cleft  asunder  was  the  mountain's  side, 

The  raging  floods  then  rush'd  resistless  through. 

Thence  rolling  on  spread  devastation  wide, 

Till  awe-struck  ocean  from  his  shores  withdrew. 

To  yonder  cliffs  now  lift  the  excursive  eye, — 
Sublimely  grand  appears  the  mountain  scene; 

See  rocks  on  rocks  gigantic  pil'd  on  high, 

With  laurels  crown'd  and  forests  waving  green. 

While  far  beneath,  torn  from  their  giddy  steep, 
The  mighty  fragments  of  the  cliffs  we  see, 

O'er  which  the  foaming  waves  continual  sweep, 
And  roaring,  seem  to  tell  their  victory. 

'Mid  scenes  like  these,  with  what  delight  we  view 
Far  in  the  east,  between  the  opening  hills, 

The  clear  horizon's  placid  azure  hue, 

Which  with  a  heavenly  calm  the  bosom  fills, 

7* 


74 

So  feels  the  mind  when  on  the  brink  of  time,. 
O'er  life's  tumultuous  waves,  uplifted  high, 

Some  heavenly  view  of  future  bliss  sublime, 
Transports  the  soul  and  cheers  the  mental  eye. 

From  these  grand  views  which  every  sense  o'erpowerv 
And  hold  the  mind  in  vacant  wonder's  sway, 

Well  pleas'd  I  turn  to  yonder  rural  bower, 
Whose  smiling  site  invites  the  traveller's  stay. 

Thick  round  its  sides  the  clustering  vines  are  hung, 

Abrupt  the  mountain  rises  in  its  rear, 
Half  hid  by  trees,  the  river  glides  along, 

And  murmuring  softly,  soothes  the  listening  ear. 

Stupendous  scenes,  like  splendour,  wealth  and  power, 
To  which  mankind  with  eager  grasp  aspire, 

Tho'  they  may  please  for  one  short  fleeting  hour, 
Their  brilliancy  itself,  at  length  will  tire. 

Then  seeks  the  soul  some  calm,  some  blest  retreat, 
Where  milder  beauties  may  forever  please; 

Thus  Washington,  from  his  exalted  seat, 
Retir'd,  and  found  tranquillity  and  ease. 

How  vast  the  wisdom  then  these  scenes  may  teach* 
Of  Him  who  call'd  existence  into  day ; 

Few  men  the  heights  of  fame  can  ever  reach, 
But  all  may  find  an  humbler,  happier  way. 


V 

JEFFERSON'S  EOCK.  75 

Oh!  Fame,  them  dear,  thou  soul-deluding  sound, 

Parent  of  care,  and  banisher  of  rest, 
How  many  seek  thee,  but  how  few  have  found, 

And  fewer  still,  in  finding  thee,  are  blest. 

Even  this  same  rock  on  which  my  feet  are  plac'd, 
Proves,  clearly  proves,  how  fondly  thou  art  priz'd, — 

Thick  o'er  its  surface  many  a  name  is  trac'd, 
And  many  a  name  that  now  forgotten  lies. 

How  many  a  weary  step  some  travellers  climb 
O'er  craggy  rocks  to  reach  this  lovely  place, 

Almost  forget  to  view  those  scenes  sublime, 

And  spend  their  time  a  worthless  name  to  trace. 

Like  Macedon's  young  king  renown'd  afar, 
Whose  bosom  panted  for  the  heights  of  fame, 

For  this  he  braved  the  iron-front  of  war, 
Attain'd  the  summit,  and  has  left, — a  name. 

There  is  a  deep,  mysterious  desire, 

By  Heaven  implanted  in  the  human  breast, 

Which  bids  the  soul  to  future  life  aspire, 
When  in  the  grave  this  frame  shall  sink  to  rest. 

When  thoughts  of  death  the  human  soul  engage, 
And  the  pale  messenger  his  form  displays, 

Who  does  not  feel,  like  Rome's  heroic  sage, 
An  ardent  longing  for  immortal  days. 


76  JEFFERSON'S  ROCK. 

When  with  celestial  love  this  lights  the  soul, 
It  then  receives  Religion's  sacred  name ; 

When  worldly  glory  forms  the  inspiring  goal, 
Its  name  on  earth  is  then  recorded  Fame. 

The  first  attun'd  king  David's  hallowed  lyre, 

While  heavenly  raptures  flowing  from  his  tongue, 

Rais'd  high  the  soul — and  higher — and  still  higher — 
Till  up  to  heaven  the  loud  hosannas  rung. 

The  other  breathes  in  Homer's  classic  strain, 
And  sheds  its  influence  mild  o'er  Maro's  lays, 

Whose  magic  force  while  o'er  each  sense  they  reign, 
Calls  forth  the  tribute  of  exalted  praise. 

As  yon  bright  sun's  declining  beams  now  fade, 
The  twilight  gloom  comes  on  with  gradual  pace ; 

The  valleys  first  are  'velop'd  in  its  shade, 

And  now  it  climbs  above  the  mountain's  base. 

But  still  yon  cliffs  that  crown  the  lofty  height, 
Give  back  the  radiance  of  departing  day, 

And  still  shall  shine  in  all  their  glory  bright, 
Till  day's  last  lingering  beam  shall  fade  away. 

So  shall  the  brightest  deeds  of  fame  expire, 

And  heroes'  names  be  wrapped  in  death-like  night; 

But  then,  even  then,  shall  David's  hallowed  lyre, 
Still  wake  its  numbers  in  the  realms  of  light. 
1822. 


LAKE    GEORGE. 


SWEET,  peaceful  Lake !  how  would  I  love  to  glide 
At  morn  and  eve  upon  thy  crystal  tide  ; 
Push  the  light  skiff  along  thy  silent  shore, 
Where  rocks  and  verdant  woods  are  hanging  o'er: 
Among  the  islands  on  thy  bosom  rove, 
In  shady  nook  or  cool  sequester'd  grove ; 
Or  seek  some  cave  beneath  yon  towering  hill, 
Where  mossy  rocks  the  crystal  stream  distil. 
But  not  thro'  scenes  like  these,  alone,  I'd  stray, — 
One  dear  companion  still  should  cheer  my  way; 
Her  brightening  eye  should  on  these  beauties  gaze, 
Her  raptur'd  tongue  should  dwell  upon  their  praise 
Meanwhile  the  stream  of  life  would  glide  away, 
Pure  as  thy  waters,  and  serene  as  they. 

Oh  !  I  have  watch' d  with  rapture-lighted  eye 
The  earliest  dawn  that  ting'd  yon  orient  sky, — 
Seen  the  blue  mists  around  these  mountains  roll'd, 
Their  graceful  outlines  ting'd  with  burnish'd  gold, 
Till  from  yon  cliffs  that  o'er  the  waters  frown, 
The  sun,  uprisen,  pour'd  his  radiance  down; 


LAKE    GEORGE. 


Chas'd  by  his  light,  the  sombre  shades  withdrew, 
The  scattered  clouds  in  wild  confusion  flew, 
Clear  and  distinct  each  beauteous  scene  became, 
And  all  the  mountain  tops  were  fring'd  with  flame. 
Delightful  Lake  !   how  grateful  is  the  scene, 
At  sultry  noon  among  thy  islands  green, 
Where  cool  and  shelter'd  from  the  scorching  ray, 
The  patient  angler  whiles  the  hours  away; 
Leans  o'er  the  bank,  and  in  the  crystal  tide 
Sees  round  his  hook  the  playful  fishes  glide, 
Till  some  poor  victim,  tempted  by  the  bait, 
Is  drawn  reluctant  to  his  hapless  fate. 
When  o'er  yon  mountain  glows  the  setting  sun, 
And  all  the  labours  of  the  day  are  done, 
How  would  I  love,  devoid  of  care,  to  stray 
Along  thy  shores,  and  watch  the  closing  day, 
See  the  last  lingering  beam  of  light  that  gilds 
The  craggy  summits  of  yon  eastern  hills, 
Or  mark  the  shades  of  evening  mantling  round 
Yon  ancient  fortress  crumbling  to  the  ground, 
Where  erst,  the  sons  of  men  in  wrathful  hour, 
Contended  fiercely  for  the  grasp  of  power: 
But  they  who  proudly  met  in  that  dread  fray, 
Shall  meet  and  tremble  on  a  greater  day, 
When  all  the  power  and  all  the  fame  they  sought, 
Weigh'd  with  Eternity,  shall  seem  as  naught. 
Pure,  peaceful  Lake  !  long  will  my  heart  hold  dear 
The  bright  remembrance  of  the  hours  past  here  ; 


LAKE    GEORGE.  79 

Where  love's  bright  flame  and  friendship's  genial  ray 
A  pleasing  radiance  shed  around  my  way, 
And  gave  a  lovelier  form  and  brighter  hue 
To  every  scene  that  met  my  wondering  view. 

1826. 


THE  PEAKS  OP  OTTER. 


BEHOLD  yon  Peak  with  rocks  gigantic  crown'd, 
And  with  a  forest  girdle  circled  round ; 
Its  graceful  outline  swells  before  the  eye, 
In  pleasing  contrast  with  the  azure  sky; 
And  clothed  in  richest  robes  of  living  green, 
It  towers,  the  monarch  of  the  mountain  scene. 

Tho'  years  have  flown,  and  joys  and  sorrows  past 
Have  o'er  my  path  their  lights  and  shadows  cast ; 
Yet  memory  still  in  vivid  colours  shows, 
The  glorious  scene  that  on  my  vision  rose, 
When  on  that  peak  in  musing  solitude, 
To  watch  the  dawning  of  the  day  I  stood. 
First  in  the  eastern  sky  those  streaks  of  gray, 
The  blended  hues  of  light  and  shade  display ; 
Succeeded  soon  by  tints  of  roseate  dye, 
Whose  brightening  radiance  spreads  along  the  sky ; 
And  many  a  cloud  attends  in  rich  array, 
To  catch  the  glories  of  the  rising  day. 
Far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  the  prospect  wide 
With  valleys,  hills,  and  plains  diversified, 


THE    PEAKS    OF  OTTER.  81 

Seen  in  the  distance  from  this  mountain  height, 
Like  one  vast  plain  is  spread  before  the  sight : 
Where,  seen  at  times  and  then  conceal'd  from  view, 
The  glittering  streams  their  winding  course  pursue, 
And  sleeping  mists  in  every  valley  lie, 
Like  bright  still  lakes,  deceptive  to  the  eye. 
But  see !  the  rising  sun  with  splendour  glows, 
The  mists,  awaken' d  from  their  deep  repose, 
In  graceful  shapes  their  changeful  forms  display! 
Then  take  the  morning's  wings  and  soar  away ; 
What  beauteous  colours  burst  upon  the  sight, 
Caught  and  reflected  from  the  orb  of  light, 
By  whose  bright  beams  uplifted,  they  appear 
To  rise  triumphant  to  a  higher  sphere. 

Does  not  yon  glorious  orb  an  emblem  seem 
Of  that  eternal  and  life  giving  Beam, 
Which  from  the  soul  can  chase  the  gloom  of  night, 
Refine  and  clothe  it  with  a  robe  of  light, 
Endow  with  feelings  of  celestial  birth, 
And  bear  triumphant  o'er  the  things  of  earth! 

As  westward  now  we  turn  our  wondering  view 
O'er  yon  wide-scatter'd  hills  and  mountains  blue; 
We  see  the  shadow  of  this  lofty  cone, 
O'er  many  a  distant  ridge  distinctly  thrown, 
Whose  long-extended  lines  and  graceful  sweep, 
Seem  like  the  billows  of  the  rolling  deep. 

Oh !  who  on  such  a  scene  as  this  can  gaze, 
Nor  feel  his  bosom  glow  with  grateful  praise 
8 


82  THE    PEAKS    OF    OTTEK. 

To  Him  whose  potent  voice  the  word  but  said, 
And  mountains  started  from  their  ocean  bed. 
And  oh !  my  country  when  I  thus  behold 
Thy  wide-extended  plains,  and  mountains  bold, 
Thy  vales  secluded,  thy  embow'ring  woods, 
Thy  rivers  rolling  their  majestic  floods, 
Thy  mighty  cataract's  unrivall'd  scene, 
And  thy  broad  lakes  that  spread  their  waves  serene, 
I  feel  the  greatness  of  thy  destiny, 
And  breathe  to  heaven  the  fervent  prayer  for  thee, 
That  like  thy  scenery  may  thy  virtues  shine, 
And  bear  the  impress  of  a  stamp  divine. 
1838. 


TO  SERENA. 


OH  !  why,  Serena,  dost  thou  wear, 
So  frequent  on  thy  placid  brow, 
That  sweetly  musing  pensive  air, 
That  clothes  it  now  ? 

Methinks  in  many  a  lonely  hour, 

The  fading  charms  of  earth  resign'd, 
Thou  find'st  in  contemplation's  bower, 
Joys  more  refin'd. 

When  worldly  cares,  and  scenes  of  mirth, 

And  all  the  fleeting  dreams  of  life, 
Whose  influence  binds  us  down  to  earth, 
Have  ceas'd  their  strife, — 

Thou  know'st  'tis  then  the  unfetter'd  soul, 
Enraptur'd,  seeks  the  "world  of  mind," 
And  spurning  earth's  severe  control, 
Soars  unconfin'd, 


84 


TO    SERENA, 


'Tis  then  we  find  this  speck  of  earth 

Was  never  destin'd  to  confine 
A  soul  that  claims  a  heavenly  birth, — 
A  spark  divine. 

Hast  thou  not  thought  in  hours  like  this, 

How  strange  that  mortals  should  forego, 
The  only  lasting  source  of  bliss, 
And  balm  of  woe  ? 

To  sport  awhile  on  pleasure's  stream, 

To  breathe  of  flattery's  pois'nous  breath, 
And  then  from  life's  illusive  dream 
Awake  in  death. 

For  me,  all  heedless  as  I  am, 

A  wanderer  from  the  perfect  way, 
When  restless  Fancy  finds  a  calm, 
These  feelings  sway. 

Then  looking  back  with  heartfelt  pain, 

Life's  fleeting  pleasures  I  review, 
Repent,  and  say  to  Folly's  train, 
Vain  shades,  adieu ! 

But  ah !  this  vital  spark,  the  mind, 

Is  wedded  to  a  frame  of  clay, 
And  all  the  follies,  thus  resign'd, 
Resume  their  sway. 


TO    SERENA.  85 

Still  then,  Serena,  may'st  thou  wear, 

Forever  on  thy  placid  brow, 
That  sweetly  musing,  pensive  air, 
That  clothes  it  now. 

What  tho'  thy  heart  of  purity, 

Life's  various  follies  hath  resign'd, 
Still  mayst  thou  mourn — yes,  mourn  for  me, 
And  all  mankind. 

Should  some  pure  seraph  from  above, 

A  being  of  celestial  birth, 
Come  down,  a  messenger  of  love, 
And  dwell  on  earth: 

When  he  beheld  th'  afflictive  scene, 

The  prostrate  state  of  souls  divines 
His  brow,  methinks,  a  pensive  mien 
Would  wear  like  thine. 

Alexandria,  1824. 


8  * 


SONNET  TO  A  ROSE. 


SWEET  flower,  that  from  the  young  Serena  came, 
And  in  her  bosom  once  thy  fragrance  shed, 
Tho'  thy  bright  tints  are  now  forever  fled, 

Still  is  the  sweetness  of  thy  scent  the  same. 

Fit  emblem  thou,  of  that  celestial  flame, 
Which  only  in  the  virtuous  bosom  springs ; 

Whether  affection  or  pure  love  its  name, 

Dear  are  the  cares,  and  sweet  the  joys  it  brings; 
Tho'  time,  dread  spoiler  of  all  earthly  things, 

May  mar  the  beauty  of  the  form  it  wears, 
The  essence,  still  how  faithfully  it  clings 
Around  the  heart,  nor  dreads  the  blight  of  years  ; 

For  with  the  soul,  'twill  mount  to  higher  spheres, 

Improv'd  in  all  its  joys,  and  freed  from  all  its  cares. 


SOMETHING  NEW. 


THERE  is,  methinks,  beneath  the  sun 
(Whate'er  the  Jewish  sage  may  say) 

One  object  fair,  and  only  one, 

That  still  is  new  from  day  to  day. 

Is  it  the  bright  kaleidoscope, 

That  changes,  turn  it  as  you  will? 

Is  it  the  rainbow,  arch  of  hope, 

More  beauteous  and  more  changeful  still? 

Is  it  the  cloud  that  veils  the  west, 
So  gorgeously  at  summer  even ; 

Which  seems  as  tho'  some  spirit  blest 
Were  opening  the  gates  of  heaven  ? 

Oh !  no ;  it  wears  one  constant  hue, 

More  bright  than  all  of  these  can  prove ; 

It  is  (I  trust  thou  know'st  it  too) 
It  is  the  holy  flame  of  love. 


88  SOMETHING    NEW. 

The  brightest  things  of  earth  will  tire, 
Whate'er  the  charms  they  may  display,- 

The  birds  of  spring,  the  minstrel's  lyre, 
And  e'en  the  cheering  light  of  day. 

But  ah !  there  is  in  this  a  light, 
So  clear,  so  constant,  and  so  true ; 

From  night  till  morn,  and  morn  till  night, 
We  watch  it,  and  it  still  is  new. 


AUTUMN. 

A  PASTORAL. 

"Of  fellowship  I  speak 
Such  as  I  seek,  fit  to  participate 


AMELIA. 

OH  !  these  are  scenes  that  to  the  thoughtful  mind 
A  language  speak,  which  cannot  be  withstood, — 
The  varied  foliage  of  autumnal  groves, 
The  drooping  flow'rets,  and  the  leafless  bowers, 
From  which  yon  little  bird  pours  forth  the  notes 
Of  plaintive  love,  and  chants  his  farewell  song 
To  groves  and  bowers,  the  scenes  of  former  bliss, 
Ere  he  to  other  climes  shall  take  his  flight, 
Where  Summer,  in  the  midst  of  Flora's  train, 
Delighted  dwells,  and  calls  the  tilneful  quire. 

ALEXIS. 

Yes,  scenes  like  these  are  form'd  to  captivate 
The  feeling  heart,  and  fill  the  thoughtful  mind 


90  AUTUMN. 

With  love  of  heavenly  musing.     Thus  the  rose 
That  droops  its  lovely  head,  the  leaf  that  falls 
In  graceful  undulations  to  the  earth, 
The  whispering  evening  breeze,  green  waving  pines, 
And  murmuring  brooks,  all  seem  replete  with  life. 
Chameleon-like,  Imagination  takes 
Her  changeful  colours  from  the  present  scene, 
And  stamps  their  impress  on  the  yielding  heart. 
In  hours  like  this  she  tells  of  life's  decay, — 
Of  faded  bowers  of  bliss, — and  youthful  hopes 
Like  vernal  flowers,  all  wither'd, — brings  to  view 
The  objects  dear  of  many  a  tender  tie : 
Friendships  and  former  loves,  like  birds  of  spring, 
Whose  notes  were  wont  to  cheer, — remember'd  still 
With  fond  regret, — but  ah !  forever  flown ! 
A  thousand  charms  and  soft  endearing  ties 
Conspire  to  bind  us  to  this  lower  world, 
So  fraught  with  bounteous  gifts, — but  were  no  trace 
Of  a  supreme,  creative  mind,  perceiv'd, 
How  dark  would  be  the  scene.     'Tis  mind  alone 
That  can  commune  with  mind.    Even  the  warm  glance 
And  playful  smile,  and  balmy  lip  of  beauty, 
If  there  no  intellectual  radiance  shine, 
How  lifeless  and  how  void.     Mark  the  young  pair 
That  through  yon  grove  of  elms  pursue  their  walk ; 
What  beamy  smiles  and  warm  expressive  looks 
Evince  the  mutual  interchange  of  thought. 


AUTUMN.  91 

AMELIA. 

'Tis  Edwin  and  Serena.     She  the  maid 
Whose  virtuous  heart  and  highly  cultur'd  mind, 
Have  foremost  plac'd  among1  the  village  train; 
The  minstrel  he,  whose  pleasing  art  calls  forth 
The  purest  aspirations  of  the  soul. 

ALEXIS. 

Know'st  thou  the  history  of  the  youthful  pair  ? 

AMELIA. 

Oh !  it  would  take  whole  volumes  to  relate 
The  varied  history  of  a  mind  impress'd 
By  nature's  bounty,  with  a  sense  acute 
Of  suffering  or  enjoyment, — and  on  which 
The  lights  and  shades  of  life,  alternately 
Have  fallen.     Suffice  it  then  of  him  to  say, 
Three  times  has  autumn  held  his  sober  reign, 
Since  Edwin's  brow  with  clouds  of  grief  o'erhung, 
Bemoan'd  the  faded  flowers  of  his  green  spring 
By  frosts  untimely  nipt.     Fond  hopes  were  fled, 
And  schemes  of  bliss,  indulg'd  for  many  a  year, 
All  blasted  and  decay'd.     He  felt  like  one, 
Who  roaming  through  some  house  left  desolate, — 
Stripp'd  of  its  furniture, — hears  every  step 
Vibrate  with  hollow  sound  along  the  walls, 
And  strike  a  dreary  chillness  thro'  the  soul. 
He  strove  against  these  feelings,  and  put  on 


92  AUTUMN. 

The  garb  of  cheerfulness,  to  hide  a  heart 

With  anguish  torn,  and  sought  the  giddy  throng, 

Where  youth  and  beauty  strove  in  vain,  to  chase 

The  secret  sense  of  grief.     But  there  was  one 

Of  modest  mien,  and  pensive  downcast  eye, 

And  quiet  spirit,  cheerful  yet  not  gay, 

Who  sometimes  met  him  in  the  festive  hall, 

And  gently  drew  him,  with  a  cord  unseen, 

To  shun  the  mirthful  crowd.     There  was  a  calm 

And  soothing  influence  in  her  placid  looks, 

That  like  the  smile  of  innocence,  could  cheer 

When  mirth  had  tried  in  vain.     Such  is  the  calm 

That  weary  mortals  prove, — when  from  the  strife 

And  tumult  of  the  day  retir'd ;  comes  on 

The  pensive  twilight  hour, — when  not  a  cloud 

Obscures  the  beauty  of  the  blue  serene, 

And  bright  celestial  orbs  look  down  from  high, 

As  if  with  nobler  thoughts  to  inspire  the  soul. 

These  interviews,  repeated  oft,  he  felt 
A  tender  friendship  in  his  bosom  rise, 
Like  the  soft  radiance  of  the  latter  spring 
When  brightening  into  summer.     Then  he  sang 
Upon  his  lyre,  the  virtues  and  the  charms 
Of  young  Serena, — but  the  modest  fair 
Discern'd  not  that  for  her  was  meant  the  strain, 
And  he  unconscious  that  so  much  he  lov'd, 
Still  thought  no  earthly  fair  should  sway  his  heart, 
The  muse  alone  the  mistress  of  his  soul. 


AUTUMN.  93 

But  there  were  seasons,  when  the  muse  no  more 
Could  chase  the  gloom  of  care,  or  shed  the  light 
Of  gladness  o'er  his  brow.     Oh !  then  one  smile 
From  those  mild-beaming  eyes,  could  more  impart 
Of  heartfelt  bliss,  than  poesy's  bright  dreams, 
Or  the  sweet  music  of  the  world's  applause. 
This  was  a  feeling  different  from  the  fire, 
In  youthful  bosoms  kindled,  by  the  blaze 
Of  personal  charms.     Less  wild  and  passionate, 
But  not  less  deep.     The  one  like  earth-born  fires 
That  crown  the  summit  of  some  lofty  peak, — 
Now  bursting  into  flame, — now  wrapt  in  gloom: 
The  other  like  pure  Luna's  milder  beams, 
Caught  from  the  source  of  universal  light, 
And  shedding  beauty  o'er  the  loneliest  hours. 

At  length  he  saw,  or  fondly  thought  he  saw, 
The  sweet  expression  of  a  kind  regard, 
Which  yet  might  brighten  more  and  more,— and  shed 
A  halo  of  pure  light  around  two  hearts, 
Melted  by  love  and  blended  into  one. 
But  these  warm  raptures  were  succeeded  oft 
By  trembling  doubts  and  fears, — the  maiden's  worth 
And  his  unworthiness  contrasted,  seem 
All  too  unlike  to  meet.     Such  is  the  effect 
In  every  mind  where  love  triumphant  reigns, 
And  many  a  valiant  heart  has  fear'd  to  express,— 
As  he  now  fears, — the  conflict  in  his  breast. 
9 


94  AUTUMN. 

ALEXIS. 

Oh !  there  is  rapture  in  a  flame  like  this ! 
We  were  not  placed  on  earth  to  tread  alone 
This  varied  scene  of  mingled  cares  and  joys. 
But  as  yon  beauteous  moon  our  globe  attends, 
Through  the  long  journey  of  a  trackless  sky; 
Receiving  each,  and  each  dispensing  light, 
Drawn  from  one  fountain  of  unceasing  day, — 
So  man  and  woman  were  design' d  to  move 
In  beauteous  concert  thro'  the  path  of  life, 
Enlightening  and  enlighten'd, — while  they  keep 
In  the  bright  orbit  of  celestial  love. 


SERENA. 


A  PASTORAL. 

THE  summer  sun  from  his  meridian  height, 

On  panting  nature  pours  the  sultry  beam ; 
The  winged  warblers  shun  the  blaze  of  light, 

And  weary  ploughmen  loose  the  labouring  team. 

Along  the  shore  of  SchuylkilPs  winding  stream, 
Where  branching  elms  exclude  the  beams  of  day, 

Two  youthful  swains  on  many  a  pleasing  theme, 
In  converse  sweet,  beguile  the  hours  away ; 
And  thus  in  soothing  strains  they  raise  the  rural  lay. 

SIDNEY. 

Oh !  how  refreshing  is  this  sylvan  shade, 

How  sweet  to  hear  yon  brook  run  babbling  by, 

As  on  this  grassy  couch  neglectful  laid, 

With  nature's  charms  we  feast  the  roving  eye, — 
Beyond  the  river's  course  yon  mountains  high, 

In  wild  romantic  ruggedness  appear ; 

And  weeping  willows  on  the  shores  we  spy, 


96  SERENA. 

Which  bend  their  boughs  the  murmuring  floods  to  hear, 
And  birds  amid  those  boughs,  delight  the  listening  ear. 

And  hark !  the  mocking  bird's  delightful  note, 

With  which  the  neighbouring  grove  melodious  rings; 

As  thro'  the  air  those  strains  so  softly  float, 
The  passing  zephyrs  fold  their  downy  wings: 
In  Albion's  clime,  while  Philomela  sings, 

The  listening  minstrel  plans  the  warbler's  praise, — 
But  oh !  ye  bards,  cease  now  to  touch  your  strings, 

A  little  while  your  boasted  songstress  stays, 

While  ours,  for  many  a  month,  attunes  her  softer  lays. 

EDWIN. 

And  mark  the  contrast  by  yon  river  made, 

To  all  the  smiling  scenery  around ; 
Along  the  windings  of  the  peaceful  glade, 

O'er  rocks  and  crags  it  foams  with  roaring  sound : 

Oh !  Sidney,  come,  for  wisdom's  lore  renown'd, 
From  nature's  scenes  instruct  me  to  be  good; 

Thy  herds  are  grazing  on  the  meadow  ground, 
And  while  my  team  partake  their  mid-day  food, 
I'll  listen  to  thy  lays,  in  this  sequester'd  wood. 

SIDNEY. 

'Tis  not  in  learned  lays,  nor  flowery  strains 
To  please  the  ear,  that  richest  wisdom  lies ; 


SERENA.  97 

For  humble  David  sooth'd  a  monarch's  pains, 
While  yet  a  youth  in  shepherd's  homely  guise : 
From  deeper  sources  must  those  streams  arise, 

That  yield  instruction  to  th'  immortal  part; 

The  babbling  brook  a  summer's  sun  soon  dries, 

While  fountains  deep  their  waters  still  impart, 

To  save  the  fainting  flocks,  and  cheer  the  shepherd's 
heart. 

Though  science  is  a  mine,  fraught  with  supplies 
Of  richest  ore,  and  gems  of  sparkling  hues, 

And  literature  a  garden  where  the  wise 

May  gather  plants  for  beauty  and  for  use,— 
Yet  how  unwise  is  he  who  still  pursues 

Through  life  a  path  where  only  flowers  are  found; 
And  how  contracted  are  the  miser's  views, 

With  whom  unpolish'd  gems  and  ores  abound, 

Yet  pines  for  lack  of  bread, while  plenty  smiles  around. 

'Tis  not  in  hoarded  heaps  of  richest  ore 

The  famish'd  body  can  subsistence  find, 
Nor  yet  in  idle  uninstructive  lore, 

To  fill  the  cravings  of  th'  immortal  mind; 

But  when  with  learning,  goodness  is  combined, 
Of  brighter  hues  are  fancy's  flowers  possess'd; 

The  gold  of  science  from  its  dross  refin'd, 
Is  with  a  glorious  image  then  impress'd — 
Becomes  a  current  coin,  and  makes  us  truly  blest. 


98  SERENA. 

And  oh !  to  souls  like  this  alone  is  given 

That  heart-felt  rapture  for  the  wise  design'd, 
To  share  at  balmy  morn  or  beauteous  even, 

The  smiles  of  nature,  and  the  joys  of  mind; 

Nor  will  the  sage  despise  that  bliss  refin'd, — 
We  sometimes  feel  our  happiest  moments  stealing, 

When  kindred  souls  by  tender  love  entwin'd, 

Unite  in  sacred  sympathy  of  feeling; 

Oh !  no :  'tis  heaven's  own  law,  the  Maker's  love  re 
vealing. 

Bring  not  for  us  the  tabor  nor  the  lute, 

Nor  sacred  harp,  attun'd  with  many  a  string, 
Nor  deep  ton'd  organ,  nor  melodious  flute, 

To  sing  the  praise  of  nature's  bounteous  king. 

A  nobler  instrument  let  Christians  bring, — 
The  heart  itself,  attun'd  by  skill  divine, 

From  whose  soft  tones  far  sweeter  strains  shall  spring 
Than  when  all  these  in  artful  concert  join, 
Where  grand  cathedral  aisles  the  echoing  notes  confine. 

The  heart  so  form'd,  where  love's  melodious  strings, 

And  Christian  faith,  and  hope,  and  joy  are  found, 
Is  like  the  harp  of  ^Eolus,  which  rings 

Whene'er  the  breath  of  heaven  inspires  the  sound ; 

Then  oh !  what  sacred  music  wakes  around, 
Far  sweeter  than  the  fam'd  Orphean  lyre, 

Tho'  mortal  ears  hear  not  the  note  profound, — 


SERENA. 


99 


To  heaven's  high  throne  the  grateful  strains  aspire, 
And  mingle  with  the  praise  of  blest  angelic  choir. 

EDWIN. 

Oh !  yes  :  and  such  the  harmony  that  reigns 

In  young  Serena's  pure  unsullied  mind, 
When  through  the  woodlands  or  the  flowery  plains 

With  her  I  rove,  what  raptures  do  I  find ; 

I've  sometimes  thought  a  spirit  so  refin'd, 
For  some  peculiar  purpose  must  be  given, 

With  nobler  views  perhaps  t'  inspire  mankind, 
Or  like  the  mildly  beaming  star  of  even, 
In  hours  of  doubt  and  gloom,  to  fix  the  thoughts  on 
heaven. 


What  gift,  Serena,  shall  I  bring  for  thee, 

Sweet  to  the  ear  and  pleasing  to  the  sight, — 

Thou  wouldst  not  wish  the  tuneful  bird  to  see, 
Torn  from  his  mate,  depriv'd  of  nature's  right, — 
Oh !  no :  for  thee  I'll  climb  the  mountain  height, 

And  pluck  the  wild  flowers  to  adorn  thy  brow, — 
For  thee  the  muse  shall  weave  a  garland  bright, 

And  breathe  in  tender  verse  thy  lover's  vow; 

For  full  of  love,  and  truth,  and  tenderness  art  thou. 

No  childish  fears  Serena's  bosom  fill, — 

Too  good,  too  pure,  to  dread  the  wrath  of  heaven 


100  SERENA. 

As  once  with  her  I  walk'd  on  yonder  hill, 
A  lowering  storm  increas'd  the  gloom  of  even, 
By  warring  winds  the  embattled  clouds  were  driven, 

And  near  our  path  a  tall  majestic  oak, 

By  the  red  thunderbolt  in  twain  was  riven, — 

"  Let  us  not  fear,"  'twas  thus  she  mildly  spoke, 

"  Though  lightnings  flash  around, — our  God  directs 
the  stroke." 

How  pure  and  rapturous  are  the  joys  that  flow, 
From  mutual  interchange  of  thought  and  feeling, 

When  smile  meets  smile,  and  youthful  bosom's  glow, 
And  eyes  speak  volumes,  past  the  tongue's  revealing: 
How  do  I  love  when  evening's  shades  are  stealing 

Upon  the  landscape,  and  with  mantle  gray 
The  sterner  features  of  the  scene  concealing, — 

With  thee,  Serena,  thro'  the  fields  to  stray, 

And  mark  the  queen  of  night  pursue  her  azure  way. 

What  grace  and  beauty  does  her  silvery  ray 

Dispense,  upon  the  dusky  veil  of  night; 
Behold  the  passing  clouds— how  dark  were  they! 

But  now  their  changeful  forms — Jiow  fair  and  bright; 

Such  is  the  influence  of  thy  cheering  light, 
Oh!  love,  when  mutual,  guileless,  and  serene, 

It  silvers  o'er  each  vision  of  delight, 
And  even  the  clouds  of  pensiveness  are  seen 
T*  assume  a  graceful  form,  and  wear  a  pleasing  mien. 


Y 


SERENA.  101 

As  \vith  Serena  once  at  close  of  day, 

I  sat  and  watched  the  slowly  fading  scene, — 

The  western  clouds,  magnificently  gay, 
Of  every  hue  and  every  shape  were  seen, 
Like  rocks  or  mountain  heights,  with  vales  between, 

Or  lofty  towers,  or  beacons  blazing  high, — 
Until  at  length  a  little  star  serene 

Shone  thro'  an  opening  that  reveal'd  the  sky, 

And  there  Serena  turn'd  and  fix'd  her  thoughtful  eye. 

"  Behold,"  said  she,  "  that  star  whose  placid  ray 
So  sweetly  shines  from  forth  the -clouded  west: 

'Tis  thus,  methinks,  in  life's  last  closing  day, 
The  star  of  Truth  shall  shine  upon  the  blest, 
Tho'  clouds  may  seem  upon  his  path  to  rest ; 

The  sun  of  glory  on  those  clouds  shall  shine, 

And  this  small  star,  still  more  and  more  confess'd, 

Shall  brighter  glow  as  earthly  scenes  decline, 

And  point  the  opening  way,  and  lend  her  light  divine." 


'•*  a 


STANZAS. 


OH  !  what  are  all  the  cares  of  life 
That  man's  devotion  claim,  — 
Wealth's  glittering  toys,  ambition's  strife, 
And  glory's  splendent  flame  ? 
'Tis  not  in  these, 
The  abode  of  peace 
By  nature's  law  is  given,  — 
An  humbler  scene 
Has  ever  been 
The  favour'd  path  to  heaven. 

The  modest  primrose  shuns  the  sight, 

In  day's  refulgent  blaze, 
But  in  calm  evening's  milder  light, 
Her  fragrant  bloom  displays  ; 
Thus  virtue's  flower,        .-* 
By  wealth  and  power, 
From  man's  abode  is  driven,—- 
While  yet  it  blooms 
And  still  perfumes 
The  humbler  path  to  heaven, 


STANZAS.  103 


Oh !  give  me  some  sequester'd  spot, 

Where  bounteous  nature  reigns, 
With  one— the  partner  of  my  lot — 
To  share  my  joys  and  pains: 
Affection's  blaze, 
Like  those  bright  rays 
Which  gild  the  clouds  of  even, 
Would  loveliest  shine 
In  life's  decline, 
And  fix  the  eye  on  heaven. 


EVENING  ENJOYMENTS. 


COME  gentle  eve,  I  long  to  prove 
The  sweets  of  thy  delightful  reign, 

When  Luna  walks  in  light  above, 
And  Vesper  leads  her  starry  train. 

But  'tis  not  Luna's  silvery  ray, 
Nor  Vesper's  light  I  long  to  see, 

For  love,  Serena,  lights  my  way, 

And  guides  my  gladsome  steps  to  thee, 

I  haste  thy  tender  smile  to  meet, 

To  gaze  on  thy  soul-beaming  eye, — 

To  hear  thy  voice  so  soft  and  sweet, 
And  breathe  for  thee  affection's  sigh. 

Or  when  the  pleasing  cares  of  home 
Thy  hands  engage  in  cheerful  toil, 

Bright  fancy's  page,  or  wisdom's  tome, 
I'll  ope  and  read  for  thee,  the  while. 


EVENING    ENJOYMENTS.  105 

Thus,  joyfully,  we'll  pass  the  eve, 

While  northern  tempests  sweep  the  air, 

And  thus  the  hand  of  love  shall  weave, 
For  Winter's  brow,  a  garland  fair. 

And  may  that  Power  who  reigns  above, 

And  smiles  on  hearts  united  here, 
Preserve  the  beauteous  wreath  of  love, 

And  make  it  brighter  every  year. 


10 


STANZAS 


TO   E.    J. 


THOUGH  Nature  wear  a  veil  of  gloom, 
And  Wintry  tempests  rage  around, — 

And  through  the  fields  bereft  of  bloom, 
Nor  song,  nor  voice  of  joy  be  found; 

With  cheerful  glance  can  I  survey, 
The  faded  bovver,  the  leafless  tree, — 

And  with  a  heart  o'erflowing  say, 
.  One  blissful  spot  still  blooms  for  me. 

That  spot  serene  of  pure  delight, 

Is  thy  young  heart  my  lovely  fair, 
For  Truth's  warm  sunshine  clear  and  bright, 

On  many  a  flower  is  shining  there ; 
'Tis  there  the  beauteous  flow'rets  blow. 

Of  love,  and  faith,  and  constancy, 
And  oh !  how  blest  am  I  to  know 

That  blissful  garden  blooms  for  me. 


STANZAS.  107 

Oh !  may  no  chilling  frost  e'er  come, 

Those  flowers  of  Eden  to  destroy, 
But  may  it  still  continual  bloom, 

My  treasure,  and  my  chiefest  joy: 
Then  will  I  hold  my  peaceful  way, 

Whate'er  the  storms  of  life  may  be, — 
And  with  a  heart  e'erflowing  say, 

One  blissful  spot  still  blooms  for  me. 


CONNUBIAL  LOVE. 


ABSENT  from  thee,  Serena,  though  I  roam 

Through  scenes  sublime,  that  strike  the  ravish'd  eye, 

My  thoughts  still  wander  back  to  that  dear  home, 
Where  thou  hast  cheer'd  my  heart  in  times  gone  by. 

And  when  from  festive  halls  my  ear  hath  been 
Saluted  oft  with  music's  mirthful  strain, 

I  still  recurred  to  that  delightful  scene, 

Where  peace  and  quiet  mark  thy  gentle  reign. 

Even  now,  methinks,  the  sunny  smiles  I  see 
Of  those  dear  prattlers,  that  around  thee  play, 

And  hear  the  joyous  shouts  of  mirth  and  glee, 
That  spring  from  hearts  as  innocent  as  gay. 

Tho'  small  in  reason's  view  may  be  the  toy, 

These  youthful  hearts  can  animate  and  please, — 

Yet  oh!  how  few  in  after  life  enjoy, 
Emotions  undefiled  and  calm  as  these. 


CONNUBIAL    LOVE.  109 

The  joys  of  early  life  must  fade  away, 

Like  the  sweet  blossoms  that  adorn  the  spring, — 

Yet  to  the  wise  in  their  autumnal  day, 

Shall  heavenly  truth  a  glorious  harvest  bring. 

For  if  obedient  to  His  high  behest, 

Who  calls  to  labour  in  his  harvest  here, 

The  faithful  servant,  even  now,  is  blest, 
And  lays  up  treasures  for  a  higher  sphere. 

Oh !  may  we  then  each  passing  hour  employ. 
Our  little  flock  to  lead  in  virtue's  ways ; 

And  may  the  various  blessings  we  enjoy, 
Inspire  our  hearts  with  gratitude  and  praise. 

Connubial  love !  how  pleasing  are  the  ties, 

Thou  wind'st  around  those  hearts  beneath  thy  sway, 

When  all  their  tastes  and  feelings  harmonise, 
And  heavenly  truth  illuminates  their  way. 


10* 


COSMELIA. 


BEHOLD  the  rosy  mantling  glow 
On  that  fair  cheek  impress'd, 

And  mark  the  throb  of  silent  woe, 
That  heaves  her  tender  breast. 

She  reads  the  heart-felt  melting  strains 

Of  one  no  more  on  earth ; 
And  while  she  reads,  her  mind  regains 

The  image  of  his  worth. 

She  now  beholds  in  fancy's  thought 

His  spirit  blest  above, 
And  hears  that  voice  with  feeling  fraught 

That  gain'd  her  virgin  love. 

Young  William  and  Cosmelia  were 
By  tenderest  feelings  bound, — 

More  faithful  he,  and  she  more  fair, 
Than  all  their  comrades  round. 


COSMELIA.  Ill 

But  short  on  earth  is  pleasure's  bloom, 

In  youth's  bright  opening  morn ; 
For  William  fills  an  early  tomb, 

And  she  is  left  to  mourn. 

'T  were  vain  indeed  in  fancy's  dress, 

Her  feelings  to  portray, — 
One  tear  alone  will  more  express, 

Than  language  can  convey. 

Yet  when  some  token  meets  her  eye, 

That  opes  the  source  of  grief, 
Her  bosom  heaves  the  secret  sigh, 

Till  tears  afford  relief. 

Full  many  a  scene  of  youth  now  seems 

To  pass  before  her  eyes, 
And  tender  thoughts,  and  pleasing  dreams. 

In  quick  succession  rise. 

But  reason  soon,  too  soon,  alas ! 

The  transient  bliss  destroys, 
And  bids  the  pleasing  vision  pass 

Of  all  her  former  joys. 

Oh !  lovely  mourner  cease  to  grieve 

For  thy  departed  love, 
For  soon  together  ye  shall  live 

In  scenes  of  bliss  above. 


112  COSMELIA. 

That  gracious  Power  who  reigns  on  high, 
Hath  shown  his  guardian  care, 

And  call'd  thy  William  to  the  sky, 
That  thou  mayst  seek  him  there. 
1822. 


THE  RE-UNION  OF  FRIENDS. 


THERE'S  not  a  moment  half  so  sweet, 
So  fraught  with  heart-felt  union, 

o 

As  that  when  friends  long  sever' d  meet, 
And  join  in  blest  communion. 

Let  others  boast  the  sparkling  bowl, 

Or  music's  softest  breathing, 
Or  ardent  strive  for  glory's  goal, 

Their  brows  with  laurels  wreathing. 

Those  eyes  with  rapture  sparkling  bright, 
Can  more  impart  of  pleasure, — 

Those  soothing  accents  more  delight, 
Than  music's  softest  measure. 

Why  should  1  strive  for  glory's  prize, 
Each  care  of  life  increasing, — 

Or  seek  in  wealth  and  fame  to  rise, 
And  toil  thro'  life  unceasing. 


114  THE    RE-UNION    OF    FRIENDS. 

The  bards  have  said,  and  well  might  say, 
This  world's  not  worth  the  winning, — 

Its  joys  continual  fade  away, 
Its  toils  are  still  beginning. 

But  ah !  there  is  a  blest  retreat, 
To  soothe  each  wounded  feeling, 

Where  hearts  expand  in  converse  sweet, 
Their  inmost  thoughts  revealing. 

When  pale  disease,  with  reckless  sway, 
Each  flower  of  joy  is  stealing; 

And  sorrow,  like  a  wintry  day, 
Affection's  buds  congealing. 

Then  love  and  friendship  rising  bright, 
Display  each  scene  fresh  blooming, 

Like  spring's  bright  smile,  with  joyous  light 
Fair  nature's  face  illuming. 

Should  disappointment's  angry  frown 

Of  other  gifts  bereave  me, 
Should  fortune's  sun  in  clouds  go  down, 

And  heartless  friends  all  leave  me: 

If  then  some  kindred  soul  remain, 
Each  gloomy  moment  cheering, 

The  seeming  loss  I'll  count  but  gain, 
Our  hearts  the  more  endearing. 


THE    RE-UJSION    OF    FRIENDS.  115 

True  love  is  like  the  diamond's  glow, 

In  darkest  hours  still  shining, — 
To  cheer  the  heart  and  soothe  its  woe, 

When  fortune's  sun's  declining. 


FRIENDSHIP.* 


ADDRESSED    TO    J.  J.  JR. 


OH!  give  me  a  friend,  whose  heart  fraught  with  feeling, 
Is  worthy  each  thought  of  my  bosom  to  know, 
Who  when  each  emotion  my  tongue  is  revealing, 
Can  share  in  my  bliss,  or  can  feel  for  my  woe. 

Who,  when  I  do  wrong,  will  feelingly  chide  me, 
And  point  out  the  beauties  of  virtue  and  truth ; 
And  when  I  am  weak  will  never  deride  me, 
But  view  with  compassion  the  failings  of  youth. 

Such  friends  there  are  few,  in  kindness  they're  given, 
The  good  and  the  wise  thro'  life's  voyage  to  cheer, 
And  when  by  adversity's  gales  they  are  driven, 
The  ties  that  unite  them  become  still  more  dear. 

*  This  is  a  juvenile  production. 


FRIENDSHIP.  117 

As  the  vine  of  the  forest  endearingly  twines 
Round  the  sov'reign  of  trees,  the  wide  branching  oak, 
The  longer  it  grows  the  more  closely  it  binds, 
Till  fell'd  by  the  axeman's  dissevering  stroke. 

'Tis  thus  round  the  hearts  of  the  good  and  the  tender, 
Entwine  the  dear  feelings  of  friendship  and  love, 
And  when  to  the  rude  stroke  of  death  they  surrender, 
Transplanted  from  earth,  they  shall  flourish  above. 


11 


-...I 

,t  ( 

f    • 


A  BIRTH-DAY   ODE. 


EXCUSE,  dear  girl,  my  serious  lays, 

On  such  a  theme,  so  fraught  with  joy, — 
I  know  that  sweet  mellifluous  praise 

The  nicest  taste  will  soonest  cloy ; 

Be  mine  the  province  then  t'  employ 
The  minstrel's  art  t'  instruct  the  mind 

In  joys,  which  naught  can  e'er  destroy; 
By  time,  by  matter,  unconfin'd, — 
With  age  increasing  still— for  other  worlds  design'd. 

A  form  that's  beauteous  to  behold, — 

A  soul  serene  that  sparkles  there, 
Is  like  a  diamond  set  in  gold, 

Which  monarchs  might  be  proud  to  wear : 

But  ah!  the  diamond's  brilliant  glare 
Shines  but  awhile  to  cease  with  time, — 

While  the  pure  spirit,  bright  and  fair, 
Shall  soar  to  yet  a  higher  clime, — 
Forever  rising  still — to  regions  more  sublime. 


A  BIRTH-DAY  ODE.  119 

And  what  is  life  while  here  below  ? 

The  best,  the  wisest,  let  them  say, — 
Is  it  a  meteor's  transient  glow, 

To  blaze  a  moment,  then  decay? 

No:  'tis  the  morning  of  a  day, 
Which  death's  dark  clouds  awhile  obscure ; 

But  when  those  clouds  shall  burst  away, 
'Twill  shine  in  brilliancy  mature, 
A  bright  and  glorious  day,  that  shall  for  aye  endure. 

It  is  the  seed-time  of  a  year, 

Whose  harvest  is  Eternity, — 
Such  as  we  plant  sojourning  here, 

Such  must  the  fruits  forever  be. 

How  rich,  how  greatly  blest,  is  he, 
Who  wisely  shall  on  earth  endeavour 

To  plant  that  germ  of  piety, 
Whose  buds,  nor  winds  nor  frosts  can  sever, 
But  blooms  and  bears  on  high,  forever  and  forever. 


ELEGY 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SAMUEL  P.  ADAMS. 


AWAKE,  my  harp !  thy  softest  strains  resume, — 
'Tis  friendship's  voice  demands  thy  soothing  aid; 

For  opening  genius  nipt  in  early  bloom, — 
Lamented  Adams  with  the  dead  is  laid, 

Low  in  the  tomb. 

Oh  !  youthful  minstrel,  tender  was  the  tie 
That  bound  our  hearts  in  unison  with  thine  ? 

We  mourn  to  think  that  'neath  the  sod  does  lie 
Thy  mortal  part, — but  ah  !  the  spark  divine 
Shall  never  die. 

But  death  to  thee  wore  no  appalling  mien, — 
Familiar  to  thy  thoughts  was  his  dread  blow, 

And  often  thou  at  evening's  hour  serene, 

In  some  lone  spot,  "  with  solemn  steps  and  slow," 
Wast  musing  seen. 


ELEGY.  121 

Then  did  thy  harp  attune  that  solemn  lay, 
Which  seem'd  to  presage  thy  departing  hour, 

Then  did  thy  soul  resign'd,  in  wisdom  say, 

To  life's  delusive  splendours,  wealth  and  power, 
Vain  shades,  away ! 

Oh !  how  the  soul,  at  solemn  times  like  this, 

Leaves  far  below  her  anxious  cares  and  pains, — 

On  wings  of  faith  flies  o'er  the  dread  abyss, 

Until  she  reaches  that  bright  realm,  where  reigns 
Eternal  bliss. 

And  how  this  fleeting  world's  unreal  show 

Fades  from  the  view  at  this  calm  thoughtful  hour, — 

'Tis  at  such  times  the  soul  is  taught  to  know, 
"Virtue's  the  only  amaranthine  flower" 

That  blooms  below. 

But  ah  !  not  long  the  youthful  bard  was  doom'd 
T'  indulge  bright  fancy's  rapture  beaming  ray, — 

For  Loon  disease  his  rising  morn  o'ergloom'd, 
And  now  from  these  lov'd  haunts — far,  far  away 
He  lies  entomb'd 

Oh !  pale  consumption,  reckless  is  thy  sway, 
Thou  faithful  messenger  of  God's  decree  ; 
Changeful  and  slow  thy  victim's  sure  decay, 
Like  some  dim  taper's  fitful  blaze  we  see 

Flickering  away. 
11* 


122  ELEGY    ON    THE 

But  why  should  man  so  dread  thy  leveling  hand, 
In  mercy  sent  life's  pleasures  to  destroy ; 

Yes,  sent  by  Heavenly  Love's  benign  command, 
To  fit  the  soul  by  trials  here,  t'  enjoy 

A  happier  land. 

Oh  !  who  to  leave  this  spot  we  love  so  well, 
Without  some  previous  warning,  would  desire  ? 

Who  would  not  wish  some  kindred  soul  to  tell 
His  last  request,  or  say,  ere  life  expire, 

A  long  farewell  ? 

Whene'er  this  frail  existence  I  resign, 
May  I  not  sink  with  unexpected  blow, — 

But,  if  the  will  of  Providence  divine, 

May  some  disease,  life's  pulse  destroying  slow, 
My  soul  refine. 

For  what  are  all  the  pains  we  feel  on  earth, 
Compar'd  with  that  inestimable  prize, 

That  "  pearl  of  price,"  more  than  all  treasures  worth, 
Which  gives  a  title  to  serener  skies, 

A  heavenly  birth. 

But  let  us  not  await  till  death  draws  nigh,* 
For  soon  and  unexpected  it  may  come; 

Far  wiser  'twere  in  early  life  to  try, 

By  righteousness,  to  gain  a  lasting  home 

With  God  on  high. 


DEATH    OF   S.  P.  ADAMS.  123 

That  stroke,  which  both  the  coward  and  the  brave 
Alike  awaits, — for  both  alike  must  die, — 

That  stroke,  from  which  no  earthly  power  can  save, 
We  too  must  feel, — like  Adams  we  must  lie 
Low  in  the  grave.. 


LINES 

ADDRESSED    TO    A    FRIEND,  ON    THE    DEATH    OF    HIS 
FATHER. 

'Tis  not  the  love  of  praise  inspires  this  lay, 

With  glittering  thoughts  to  gild  the  elegiac  line ; 
'Tis  friendship's  voice, — and  only  means  to  say, 

My  bosom  feels  a  kindred  throb  with  thine. 

When  forms  belov'd,  in  death's  embrace  recline, 
And  the  free  spirit  leaves  this  dark  sojourn, 

To  seek  the  bosom  of  its  Sire  divine  ; 
Oh  !  let  us  not  a  change  so  blissful,  mourn, 
Nor  pine  at  Heaven's  decree,  nor  wish  the  soul's  return. 

But  for  ourselves,  some  sorrowing  tears  must  fall, 
Some  fervent  sighs  will  heave  the  troubled  breast, 

And  while  we  bow  before  the  imperious  call, 
That  takes  his  spirit  to  the  realms  of  rest, 
Oh  !  let  us  praise  the  Almighty's  kind  behest, 

Which  lent  us  for  a  pure  example  here, 
A  kindred  soul  with  such  perfections  blest, 

And  now  hath  call'd  him  from  his  bright  career, 

With  age  and  honour  crown'd,  to  fill  a  higher  sphere* 


LINES    ADDRESSED    TO   A    FRIEND.  125 

His  faithful  consort  mourns  her  hapless  doom, 
His  youthful  children  heave  the  heart-felt  sigh, — 

Teach  these,  my  friend,  to  look  beyond  the  tomb, 
Where  not  a  tear  shall  dim  the  Christian's  eye  : 
Methinks  I  hear  his  voice  paternal  cry, 

"  My  children,  follow  in  the  path  I've  trod" — 
Methinks  I  see  him,  beckoning  from  on  high, 

To  call  the  wanderers  from  this  dark  abode, 

To  realms  of  bliss  above — the  bosom  of  our  God. 

But  still,  my  friend,  one  tender  charge  thou  hast, 

That  most  of  all  requires  thy  sympathy, — 
One  tender  plant  that  shrinks  before  the  blast, 

And  needs  that  shelter  which  she  finds  in  thee  : 

Continue  still,  a  brother  thus  to  be ; 
Forget  thine  own,  a  sister's  grief  to  share, 

Wipe  from  her  eyes  the  tears  of  piety, — 
And  while  thy  recompense  thou  readest  there, 
Still  with  a  brother's  love,  combine  a  father's  care. 


AFFLICTION. 


THOUGH  long  upon  the  willow  tree  has  hung 

My  harp, — or  only  in  the  lonely  hours 

Of  solitude,  been  swept  by  sorrow's  hand,1 — 

Fain  would  I  bring,  dear  sister,  to  thine  ear, 

Some  soothing  lay  to  cheer  th'  afflictive  hour. 

And  shall  I  sing  the  joy  affliction  brings? 

How  it  becomes  the  messenger  of  Heaven, 

To  call  us  from  our  earthly  loves  and  cares, 

And  fix  our  thoughts  on  purer  things  above  ? 

Oh  !  I  have  felt  how  gently  it  unclasps, 

The  tendrils  that  we  twine  around  those  weeds 

Of  earth,— which  were  too  weak  for  our  support; 

And  how  it  gives  a  surer,  stronger  stay, 

To  lift  dependent  man  above  the  dust, 

In  the  bright  sunshine  of  eternal  love ; 

And  when  the  tempest  rages,  to  uphold 

The  trembling  soul.     Thou  too  hast  felt  these  things; 

Thou  hast,  I  trust,  found  Him,  of  whom  'tis  said 

That  "  Moses  and  the  prophets  spake," — himself 


AFFLICTION.  127 

While  here  on  earth,  a  life  of  sorrow  led ; 

And  is  it  strange  that  they  whom  he  designs 

To  reign  with  him,  should  share  his  sufferings  too. 

"  He  chasteneth  whom  he  loveth,"-— let  us  then, 

Dear  sister,  raise  to  Him  the  incense  pure, 

Of  gratitude  for  all  his  favours  past ; 

Even  for  afflictions, — which,  like  clouds  and  rain, 

Obscure  awhile  the  brightness  of  our  sky, — 

But  are  the  means  appointed  to  bring  forth 

The  tender  plant,  and  to  sustain  its  life. 

Yet  are  there  times,  even  in  the  darkest  days, 

When  light  shines  thro'  the  broken  clouds,  and  brings 

Before  the  mental  eye,  that  heavenly  bow, 

Which  gives  the  promise  of  a  purer  sky, 

Where  Truth  celestial  shall  unclouded  shine, 

And  love  and  mercy  reign  forever  more. 


CALORIC. 


COMPANION  of  the  sunbeam  ! — thy  swift  flight, 
Though  felt  by  all,  eludes  all  human  sight : 
Throughout  the  realms  of  earth,  and  air,  and  sea, 
What  various  forms  of  matter,  spring  from  thee. 

Thou  wast  the  agent  of  Eternal  might, 
That  rear'd  the  Andes  to  their  lofty  height ; 
By  thee  driv'n  forth  the  imprison' d  vapours  fled, 
Retiring  ocean  show'd  his  rocky  bed, 
And  earth  was  shaken  with  convulsive  throes, 
When  from  the  yawning  gulf,  the  mountains  rose* 

On  Etna's  peak  where  burning  embers  glow, 
Or  streams  of  lava  from  Vesuvius  flow, — 
Thine  is  the  power,  that  in  the  abyss  profound, 
Subdues  the  molten  mass  that  boils  around, 
Sends  up  the  flaming  flood  in  columns  bright, 
And  sheds  o'er  sea  and  land,  a  beacon  light. 

To  milder  scenes  now  turn  the  excursive  eye, 
And  watch  the  mists  that  o'er  yon  landscape  lie, — 
In  fleecy  whiteness  on  the  lake  they  sleep, 
Or  spread  their  curtains  o'er  the  valleys  deep; 


CALORIC.  129 

But  as  the  rising  sun  with  splendour  glows, 
What  varied  beauties  do  their  forms  disclose, — 
Till  on  the  morning's  wings  they  rise  on  high, 
And  sail  majestic,  thro'  the  azure  sky. 
Whence  is  the  power  that  thus  can  elevate 
The  sluggish  waters  from  their  liquid  state, 
And  in  the  regions  of  the  upper  air, 
The  boundless  magazine  of  storms  prepare? — 
Thine  is  that  mighty  force,  Caloric,  thine, 
Thou  unseen  minister  of  power  Divine. 

When  joyous  Spring  advances  o'er  (he  land, 
And  flowers  put  forth,  and  budding  leaves  expand, — 
'Tis  genial  heat  that  gives  the  violet  birth, 
And  with  luxuriant  verdure  clothes  the  earth  ; 
And  when  bright  Summer  pours  his  radiance  down, 
The  fruits  to  ripen,  and  the  harvests  crown  ; 
And  sober  Autumn  follows  in  his  train, 
Replete  with  luscious  grapes  and  golden  grain  : 
Throughout  each  season,  every  change  we  see, 
Agent  of  power  Divine  !  is  wrought  by  thee. 
From  thee,  when  Winter's  blast  is  howling  round, 
Comfort  and  joy  within  our  homes  are  found, — 
'Tis  then  the  social  circle,  gather'd  there, 
Resigns  each  toil,  forgets  each  anxious  care  ; 
And  while  the  blazing  pile  consumes  away, 
In  social  converse  flies  the  wintry  day. 

From  these  clear  proofs  of  wisdom  and  design, 
To  thee  we  turn,  great  Architect  Divine. 
12 


130  CALORIC. 

Ere  yon  resplendent  sun  his  course  began, 
Thine  eye  omniscient  trac'd  the  glorious  plan,— 
To  each  revolving  sphere  its  place  assign'd, 
And  in  one  perfect  system,  all  combin'd : 
Nor  less  conspicuous  shines  thy  guardian  care, 
In  every  fragrant  flower  that  scents  the  air, 
In  every  insect  form  that  meets  the  eye, 
Than  in  yon  radiant  orbs  that  roll  on  high. 

If  in  these  lower  works  such  charms  we  find, 
How  far  transcendent  is  the  world  of  mind : 
The  fairest  forms  on  earth  must  soon  decay, 
Yon  radiant  orbs  themselves  may  pass  away ; 
But  seeds  of  virtue  sown  in  weakness  here, 
Shall  bloom  and  flourish  in  a  higher  sphere, — 
Devotion's  flame  more  brightly  shall  ascend, 
And  the  full-tide  of  joy  shall  never  end. 


LIGHT. 


"  HAIL  holy  Light !  offspring  of  Heaven  first  born,"* 

Ere  yet  the  earth  was  form'd, — while  darkness  lay 

Like  a  broad  mantle  o'er  the  vast  abyss, 

The  Great  Supreme,  sole  source  of  light  and  life, 

His  vital  spirit  breath'd  upon  the  deep, 

And  call'd  from  nothing  thy  refulgent  beams; 

Myriads  of  suns  at  his  command  shot  forth, 

And  took  their  stations  in  the  void  immense. 

'Twas  then  our  earth  with  her  attendant  moon, 

And  all  the  planets  with  their  satellites, 

Began  their  journey  thro'  the  fields  of  space, 

And  join'd  the  anthem  from  unnumber'd  worlds, 

When  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy. 

Bright  orb  of  day  !  how  numerous  are  the  forms 

That  on  thy  beams  depend  !  when  first  thy  rays 

Dawn  in  the  east  with  mild  refracted  light, 

What  graceful  shapes  the  attendant  clouds  assume, 

As  in  their  gorgeous  liveries  array'd, — 


132  LIGHT. 

They  crowd  around  thy  throne.     The  morning  dews. 
Like  glittering  diamonds  hung  from  every  spray, 
Drink  thy  pure  beams,  till  more  ethereal  grown, 
They  rise  to  meet  thee  in  the  fields  of  air. 
The  opening  flowers  their  fragrant  incense  shed, 
Their  budding  leaves  expand, — and  every  plant 
With  brightening  verdure  owns  thy  genial  sway. 

But  most  of  all,  by  animated  life 
Thy  quickening  power  is  felt.     The  feather'd  tribes 
Attune  their  notes,  and  fill  the  groves  with  song. 
The  soaring  lark  springs  up  at  thy  approach, 
And  from  mid-air  his  joyful  strain  sends  forth, 
While  flocks  and  herds  the  general  anthem  join. 

But  half  the  wonders  by  thy  Hght  produc'd, 
From  man's  research  lay  hid,  till  Newton  came, 
And  with  the  aid  of  his  prismatic  glass, 
Thy  beams  refracted,  and  disclosed  to  view 
The  rainbow's  colours  in  a  ray  of  light : 
He  show'd  to  wondering  man  that  all  the  tints 
With  which  fair  Nature  paints  her  loveliest  scenes, 
From  thy  pure  beams  are  drawn.     The  dazzling  red. 
The  orange,  and  the  yellow's  paler  hues, 
The  lively  green  in  which  the  fields  are  clad, 
The  pure  deep  azure  that  adorns  the  sky, 
The  indigo  and  violet ;  and  all 
The  nicely  blended  shades  from  these  combin'd. 

How  simple,  yet  how  grand,  the  works  of  God  ! 
Sent  forth  by  him,  the  particles  of  light 


LIGHT.  133 

Traverse  with  joy  the  boundless  fields  of  space, 

Nor  change  their  course  till  at  the  earth  arriv'd, 

They  yield  obedience  to  refraction's  law, 

Bend  from  their  course  to  cheer  the  eye  of  man, 

To  clothe  the  earth  with  verdure,  and  to  give 

To  every  living  thing  the  means  of  life. 

Fit  emblem  they,  of  that  Eternal  Power, 

Who  form'd  mankind, — and  loves  what  he  has  form'd  : 

Alike  upon  the  evil  and  the  good 

He  makes  his  sun  to  rise,  his  rains  descend ; 

But  most  of  all  the  dedicated  heart 

His  goodness  shares, — 'tis  there  he  sheds  a  ray 

More  pure  than  that  which  lights  the  outward  world, — 

A  ray  of  light  Divine, — which  as  it  dawns 

Upon  the  mind,  and  gains  dominion  there, 

Opens  a  fountain  of  unmingled  bliss. 

'Tis  then  the  affections  and  desires  become 

Plants  of  the  Father's  love,  water'd  by  dews 

From  heaven,  bearing  fruits  for  heaven  design'd, 

And  yielding  even  here,  in  peace  and  joy, 

A  lively  foretaste  of  the  eternal  world. 


12* 


ELECTRICITY. 


MYSTERIOUS  agent  of  the  Great  Supreme  ! 

How  bright  thy  course,  how  rapid  is  thy  flight, 
When  o'er  the  heavens  the  vivid  lightnings  gleam, 

And  streams  of  glory  crown  the  polar  night. 

How  would  the  rigors  of  the  Arctic  clime, 
The  germs  of  Fancy  and  of  Hope  destroy, — 

Did  not  thy  radiant  cross,  and  arch  sublime, 

Shoot  o'er  the  heavens  and  fill  the  earth  with  joy. 

The  fur-clad  Indian  from  his  cave  of  snow, 
Comes  forth  rejoicing  at  the  glorious  sight, 

Beholds  the  heavens  above  with  splendour  glow, 
And  tow'ring  glaciers  sparkling  in  the  light. 

Though  uninstructed  in  that  sacred  lore, 

Which  tells  the  wonders  of  redeeming  love  ; 

A  secret  influence  bids  his  heart  adore 

That  Power  unseen,  whose  glory  shines  above. 


ELECTRICITY.  135 

Nor  less  the  greatness  of  that  Power  is  seen, 
When  o'er  the  regions  of  the  torrid  zone, 

Comes  forth  the  monsoon, — and  the  lightning's  sheen, 
Thro'  clouds  and  tempests  flashes  round  his  throne. 

How  dread  the  thunder's  peal  that  rolls  above  ! 

How  bright  the  flashes  that  illume  the  sky ! 
Yet  even  in  these  are  seen  the  unbounded  love 

Of  Him  whose  power  and  wisdom  rule  on  high  : 

His  ministers  are  these,  to  purify 

The  noxious  vapours  in  those  regions  found, — 
To  fill  the  mountain  springs,  the  lakes  supply, 

And  the  full-tide  of  plenty  pour  around. 

But  see !  the  storm  is  past,  yon  eastern  cloud 

Reflects  the  rainbow  from  its  dripping  shower,' — 

Forth  from  their  tents  the  joyous  natives  crowd, 
To  inhale  the  freshness  of  the  evening  hour. 

What  tho'  fair  Science  to  their  mental  eye, 
Creation's  hidden  charms  hath  not  re  veal' d, — 

They  see  the  beauty  of  the  azure  sky, 

And  gaze  with  rapture  on  the  verdant  field. 

In  that  bright  region  of  perennial  flowers, 

What  rich  enjoyment  would  these  scenes  impart,. 

Did  science  and  devotion's  blended  powers 
Illume  the  mind  and  purify  the  heart. 


136  ELECTRICITY. 

For  'tis  the  heart  that  needs  the  genial  ray     „  * 
Of  light  Divine  its  darkness  to  assuage, 

And  cheer  the  pilgrim  on  his  dreary  way, 

When  clouds  hang  o'er  him,  and  when  tempests  rage. 

And  when  at  length  those  clouds  shall  break  away, 
As  the  still  evening  hour  oflife  draws  nigh, — 

'Tis  heavenly  Truth  illumes  the  closing  day, 

And  Hope's  bright  rainbow  cheers  the  Christian's 
eye. 


ASTRONOMY. 


EIow  do  I  love  when  Evening  spreads  her  veil. 
And  Silence  keeps  her  secret  watch  around, 
To  cast  aside  the  anxious  cares  of  life, 
And  hold  communion  with  the  starry  spheres. 

Still,  as  the  glimmering1  day-light  fades  away, 
The  constellations  one  by  one  emerge  ; 
Scarce  seen  at  first  amid  the  depths  of  ether, 
But  soon  more  numerous,  more  refulgent  glow, 
Till  all  the  sky  is  spangled  with  their  blaze. 

But  see  !  with  graceful  step  fair  Science  comes  ! 
Her  optic  tube  she  holds  before  our  sight, 
And  countless  stars,  lost  to  unaided  vision, 
Burst  forth  from  darkness  on  the  raptur'd  view  : 
In  every  star  another  sun  we  trace, 
Round  which  vast  worlds  unceasingly  revolve, 
And  likewise  these  encircled  by  their  moons, 
Harmonious,  moving  in  their  lesser  spheres. 
But  still  the  mind  would  soar  beyond  this  scene, 
And  thoughtful  muse  on  Him — the  Great  Supreme 


138  ASTRONOMY. 

Who,  like  a  shepherd  on  some  eminence, 
That  watches  o'er  his  flock,  beholds  with  joy 
Their  sportive  gambols  o'er  the  extended  plain. 

How  sinks  vain  boastful  man  in  nothingness 
With  such  a  scene  compar'd  !     What  is  our  earth, 
This  little  scene  of  tumult  and  turmoil, 
Where  warriors  strive  for  empire, — statesmen  grasp 
The  phantom  power, — and  misers  gather  dust ! 

Oh  !  say,  ye  radiant  orbs  that  wheel  thro'  space, 
In  distance  vast,  in  number  infinite, — 
Lives  there  upon  your  surfaces  a  race, 
Like  ours  in  form,  like  ours  of  transcient  date. 
And  fallen  like  ours  from  pristine  purity  ? 

To  say  ye  shine  for  us,  and  us  alone, 
Presumption's  height  would  be, — shall  those  vast  orbs 
Form'd  like  our  earth,  but  how  much  more  immense  ! 
Wheel  through  the  deserts  of  infinity, 
And  waft  no  praises  to  their  Maker's  ear  ? 
Reason  forbids.     Methinks  I  see  the  forms 
Of  beings  like  ourselves  move  thro'  the  scene : 
Fain  would  I  hope,  more  pure,  more  blest  than  we. 
Perhaps  amid  those  worlds  to  us  unknown, 
Some  blooming  Edens  yet  there  may  remain, 
Where  man,  the  image  of  his  Sire  divine, 
Still  tastes  the  raptures  of  unsullied  bliss. 
Perhaps  those  countless  myriads  yet  are  pure, 
And  ours  the  only  world  defil'd  with  sin. 

But  these  are  subjects  hidden  from  our  search, — 


ASTRONOMY.  139 

In  bounteous  wisdom  hid, — for  could  we  see 

The  just  amount  of  our  own  littleness, 

And  magnitude  immense  of  Power  divine, 

Hope  would  expire  amid  the  blaze  of  Truth. 

Oh !  how  immense  His  goodness  then  who  breathes 

His  quickening  spirit  thro'  the  universe, — 

Controls  the  movements  of  the  vast  machine, 

And  all  its  light  and  energy  imparts  : 

Who  not  alone  permits  our  being  here, 

But  makes  his  dwelling  with  the  pure  in  heart. 

Should  we  not  then  to  nobler  life  aspire, 
Cast  off  the  cares  which  bind  us  down  to  earth, 
And  hail  the  approach  of  that  auspicious  day, 
When  the  dark  veil  which  now  obscures  our  sight, 
By  death  shall  be  withdrawn,— and  the  pure  soul 
Soar  thro'  the  regions  of  infinity, 
All  light,  and  life,  intelligence  and  joy. 


ATTRACTION. 


THROUGHOUT  material  things  the  power  is  known 
Of  one  attractive  law  which  binds  the  whole, — 

In  smallest  atoms  is  its  presence  shown, 
And  suns  and  planets  prove  its  vast  control. 

The  flaming  comet,  this  restraining  force 

Calls  from  his  wanderings  thro'  the  fields  of  space 

Around  the  sun  he  takes  his  fiery  course, 
Then  starts  impetuous  on  his  distant  race. 

Impell'd  by  this*  each  satellite  attends 

Her  guardian  planet,  and  his  journey  cheers, — • 

And  on  this  power  unseen,  the  sun  depends 

To  guide  the  movements  of  his  circling  spheres* 

And  does  there  not  exist  a  power  like  this, 
The  human  soul  to  regulate  and  bind  ? 

The  wisdom  of  the  past  proclaims  there  is 
A  law  as  potent  in  the  world  of  mind. 


ATTRACTION.  141 

It  is  the  power  of  truth  and  love  divine, 

A  law  to  regulate,  a  light  to  cheer, — 
Within  the  path  of  duty  to  confine, 

Or  call  the  wanderer  from  his  wild  career. 

But  on  material  things,  the  force  impress'd 
In  their  primeval  hour,  preserves  them  still, — 

While  man  alone,  with  conscious  freedom  blest, 
Has  left  the  orbit  he  was  form'd  to  fill. 

Yet  aspirations  pure,  and  thoughts  sublime, 
By  heavenly  love  are  breath'd  upon  the  soul, 

Design'd  to  call  us  from  the  things  of  time, 
And  guide  our  spirits  to  their  destin'd  goal. 


13 


THE   TRIUMPHS   OF  TRUTH. 

i  -'*  ' 

This  is  the  first  part  of  a  Poem  intended  to  illustrate  the 
Christian  doctrine  of  non-resistance,  and  to  show  that  the  gospel 
has  always  been  advanced  by  the  sufferings  of  the  faithful. 

WHAT  was  it  gave  to  Eden  all  its  bloom, 
And  all  its  brightness  to  the  morn  of  time? 
Was  it  that  Nature  wore  a  fairer  form, — 
The  gentler  swell  of  undulating  hills, — 
The  bloom  of  forests,  or  the  beauteous  robe 
Of  vallies,  clad  in  never-failing  flowers? 
Was  it  the  lapse  of  sweetly  murmuring  rills, 
Or  rivers  flowing  musically  soft, 
O'er  golden  sands  and  many  sparkling  gems? 
Was  it  the  voice  of  Nature's  tuneful  choir, 
Melodious  warbling  from  the  green  retreats, 
Or  angels'  harps  from  neighbouring  summits  heard? 
Oh!  no,  methinks  it  was  the  beauteous  robe 
Of  innocence,  that  cloth'd  the  human  soul; 
'Twas  in  the  heart  of  man  the  precious  streams 
Of  consolation  flowed.     'Twas  from  the  mind, 


THE    TRIUMPHS    OF    TRUTH.  143 

The  heaven-born  mind,  that  angel  music  rose: 
For  all  the  affections  and  desires  of  man, 
Like  angels,  then  administer'd  to  joy. 
How  shall  we  now  "the  blissful  seat  regain?" 
'Tis  by  obedience  to  that  Living  Word 
In  every  heart  reveal'd, — which  separates 
The  precious  from  the  vile,  and  only  slays 
Those  lusts  impure  that  war  against  the  soul. 
Then  opens  to  new  life  the  heaven-born  mind, 
And  feels  a  relish  for  sublimer  joy. 

How  sinks  all  worldly  glory  in  his  view, 
Whose  eyes  are  open'd  to  behold  the  charms 
Of  heavenly  truth!  he  sees  on  every  hand 
The  obvious  traces  of  a  Power  divine, 
And  in  his  bosom  feels  the  kindling  glow 
Of  that  celestial  love  which  wide  extends, 
Embracing  all  the  family  of  man. 

What  is  the  gorgeous  pomp  of  martial  life, 
Where  victory  rides  triumphant  o'er  the  slain, 
And  holds  the  laurel  o'er  the  hero's  brow? 
While  meagre  want,  and  pain,  and  dire  disease, 
Are  prowling  round  the  field,  intent  to  grasp 
The  wretch  forlorn,  and  bear  him  to  his  doom? 
Oh!  what  are  these,  Celestial  Love!  compar'd 
With  thy  angelic  charms,  and  blissful  train 
Of  virtues  pure,  and  graces  from  on  high. 
And  yet,  how  blind  are  men!  the  husbandman 
Whose  arduous  labour  clears  the  forest  wild, 


144  THE    TRIUMPHS    OF   TRUTH. 

With  waving  harvests,  crowns  the  breezy  hill, 
The  verdant  carpet  spreads  along  the  vale, 
The  granary  rears  where  rich  abundance  reigns, 
And  mansion  fair,  where  sons  and  daughters  dwell: 
When  he  departs,  scarce  are  his  virtues  known 
Beyond  the  precincts  of  his  native  vale. 

But  see!  a  warrior  conies, — the  mansion  fires, — 
The  granary  plunders,— slays  the  lowing  herd, 
And  scatters  devastation  o'er  the  fields: 
But  oh!  sweet  counterpart  of  all  this  woe, 
He  saves  a  shrieking  fair-one  from  the  flames 
Himself  hath  kindled, — then  is  blazon'd  forth 
The  hero's  name,  so  generous  and  so  brave. 
The  bard,  enraptur'd  with  the  warlike  theme, 
In  glowing  verse  portrays  his  mighty  deeds, 
With  the  soft  music  of  his  numbers  drowns 
The  soldier's  dying  shriek,  the  widow's  moan,. 
The  orphan's  plaintive  cry;  and  even  persuades 
Destroying  Time  to  spare  a  name  so  dear. 
Thus  youthful  hearts  are  taught  to  venerate 
The  hero's  name,  for  martial  glory  pant — 
Spurn  the  kind  offers  of  redeeming  love, 
And  rush  impetuous  to  the  field  of  strife. 
But  oh!  Celestial  Love,  be  thou  my  theme, 
Whose  reign  was  promis'd  by  the  heavenly  choir* 
When  erst  the  babe  of  Bethlehem  was  born. 
In  him  thy  spirit  dwelt  in  fulness  then, 
And  with  thy  people  still  in  measure  dwells^ 


THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  TRUTH.  145 

Proclaiming  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men. 
Tho'  meek  and  lowly  does  thy  form  appear 
To  him  whose  eye  is  dazzled  by  the  blaze 
Of  martial  fame,  yet  do  they  hold  thee  dear, 
Whose  hearts  are  touch'd  with  thy  celestial  flame, 
Whose  eyes  are  open'd  to  behold  the  joys 
That  from  obedience  to  thy  dictates  flow. 
How  hast  thou  suffer'd  in  the  sons  of  men, 
And  how  the  sufferings  of  the  righteous  seed 

In  every  age,  have  been  the  means  ordain'd, 
The  light  of  truth  to  spread,  the  hearts  of  men 

To  subjugate, — and  even  to  draw  forth 

From  persecuting  zeal,  a  pitying  tear. 

Behold  the  sufferings  of  the  Son  of  God, 

And  mark  the  triumph  by  those  sufferings  wrought! 

He  came  to  bear  a  testimony  pure 

To  heavenly  Truth: — -to  manifest  on  earth 

The  love  unspeakable  of  God  to  man. 

At  every  step  his  progress  was  oppos'd 

By  bigotry,  hypocrisy,  and  pride. 

Their  errors  he  condemn'd,  their  pride  reprov'd, 

And  all  their  vile  hypocrisy  expos'd. 

They  rose  against  him,  and  he  meekly  bore 

Their  taunts  and  their  derision, — when  they  smote, 

His  unresisting  form  was  like  the  sheep 

Before  its  shearers,  dumb:  the  stripes  severe, 

By  their  iniquity  impos'd, — the  crown 

And  purple  robe,  in  mockery  put  on, 
13* 


146  THE    TRIUMPHS    OF    TRUTH. 

And  even  the  tortures  of  that  lingering  death 

Caus'd  not  a  murmur  to  escape  his  lips. 

At  that  dread  hour,  the  heavens  were  veil'd  in  gloom, 

And  earth  affrighted,  with  convulsions  shook; 

Yet  still  the  patient  sufferer  on  the  cross, 

Look'd  down  benignly  on  the  sons  of  men. 

He  saw  in  distant  vision  all  the  woes 
Jerusalem  must  suffer,  when  her  sons 
In  deadly  strife  should  drench  her  streets  in  blood; 
While  at  her  gates,  and  round  her  tottering  walls 
Her  enemies  are  gather'd.     Then  his  heart 
Was  touch'd  with  pity  for  rebellious  man, 
And  for  his  murderers  arose  that  prayer, 
"Father  forgive,  they  know  not  what  they  do»" 
Not  all  the  signs  and  miracles  perform'd, 
Nor  yet  the  powerful  preaching  of  the  word, 
Nor  even  th'  example  of  his  spotless  life, 
Had  touch'd  the  hearts  of  that  obdurate  race. 
But  now  their  hearts  misgave  them;  he  was  gone, 
On  whose  mild  brow  had  goodness  sat  enthron'd, 
From  whose  pure  lips  those  heavenly  accents  flow'd, 
On  which  the  multitude  enraptur'd  hung, 
And  felt  the  impulse  of  a  power  divine. 

Now  they  remember'd  how  his  life  had  past 
In  works  of  love  and  peace,— -how  he  had  cheer' d 
The  widow,  and  restor'd  her  son  to  life; 
How  he  had  cleans'd  the  leper,  whose  hard  lot 
Was  from  all  human  sympathy  cut  off; 


THE    TRIUMPHS    OF   TRUTH.  14? 

And  how  benign  he  look'd,  when  in  his  arms 
He  took  their  little  children,  and  proclaim'd 
Of  such  as  these  my  kingdom  shall  be  form'd. 

Behold,  the  time  of  Pentecost  is  come, 
From  all  the  earth  are  pilgrims  gather'd  now, 
To  celebrate  with  pomp  the  solemn  rites 
Of  that  eventful  day:  but  where  is  he 
By  whom  that  multitude  has  oft  been  taught, 
That  prophet  whom  they  hop'd  would  yet  restore 
The  kingdom  unto  Israel.     He  is  slain, 
And  in  the  sepulchre  his  body  laid; 
Yet  is  it  whisper'd  thro'  the  anxious  crowd, 
That  he  still  lives  and  has  been  seen  of  men. 

Now  come  the  Apostles  forth,  and  Peter  first 
Proclaims  the  joyful  news  that  Christ  is  risen. 
"  The  prophecies  of  old  are  thus  fulfill'd — 
The  stone  which  ye  rejected  has  become 
Head  of  the  corner:  and  the  Prince  of  life, 
Is  he,  whose  blood  your  guilty  hands  have  shed." 
How  are  they  conscience-stricken!  every  word 
Is  by  the  witness  in  their  hearts  confirm'd, 
And  the  vast  multitude  is  bow'd  and  shaken,. 
As  when  a  mighty  wind  sweeps  thro'  the  ranks 
Of  forest  trees,  and  bends  their  lofty  pride. 

And  now  they  cry,  with  one  accord,  to  him 
Whom  they  have  oft  rejected;  and  he  hears 
In  boundless  love  their  penitential  prayer, 
And  through  his  spirit's  purifying  power, 


148  THE    TRIUMPHS    OP    TRUTH. 

Saves  by  baptising  in  the  stream  of  life. 

Behold  the  riches  of  redeeming  love: 

Those  stony  hearts  which  nothing  else  could  move, 

Which  all  the  power  of  his  persuasive  word, 

And  all  the  force  of  miracles  withstood, 

Were  touch'd  and  melted  by  the  dying  love 

And  patient  sufferings  of  the  Son  of  God. 

A  fire  was  kindled  then, — destin'd  to  spread 
Throughout  the  earth, — and  by  its  power  subdue 
And  bring  to  naught,  the  idols  of  mankind. 
But  ah!  the  votaries  of  that  sacred  flame, 
Who  felt  its  influence  burning  in  their  hearts, 
And  there  subjecting  all  things  to  itself; 
How  were  they  doomed  to  suffer!     Yet,  they  knew 
When  the  good  Shepherd  call'd  them  to  his  fold, 
That  as  he  trod  thro'  life,  a  thorny  path, 
And  suffer'd  to  reclaim  his  wandering  sheep, 
So  must  they  follow  in  his  steps,  and  be 
Partakers  of  his  sufferings  and  his  joys. 

First  of  the  martyrs,  righteous  Stephen  died, 
Or  rather,  pass'd  triumphant  into  life, 
Whilst  in  a  glorious  vision,  he  beheld 
The  Son  of  man  in  heavenly  bliss  enthron'd. 

But  who  is  he  amidst  the  angry  crowd, 
That  urges  forward  their  relentless  hate, 
And  stands  a  witness  of  the  martyr's  death? 
'Tis  persecuting  Saul.     Strict  in  the  law, 
Of  morals  most  exact, — -a  Pharisee* 


THE    TRIUMPHS    OF   TRUTH.  149 

Bred  at  Gamaliel's  feet, — his  mind  is  stor'd 
With  theologian  lore, — but  ah!  his  heart 
Fill'd  with  intolerance  and  bigotry, 
Has  never  known  the  work  of  saving  grace. 
Yet  even  to  him  does  Love  Divine  extend, 
And  as  he  journeys  forward,  fill'd  with  rage, 
And  breathing  threats  against  the  flock  of  Christ, 
Soon  is  his  course  arrested:  he  beholds 
A  glorious  light  from  heaven  around  him  shine, 
A  voice  of  stern  reproof  salutes  his  ear, 
And  in  that  vision  is  he  shewn  the  Lamb 
Whom  he  has  persecuted.     See  him  now, 
How  changed  !  how  humbled !  ready  to  forgive, 
And  suffer  all  things  for  the  sake  of  Christ. 
Most  valiant  in  the  cause  he  has  espous'd, 
He  journeys  forth  to  many  a  distant  land, 
The  herald  of  the  cross, — the  champion  bold, 
Whom  tortures  cannot  move,  nor  death  appal. 

Oh!  Love  Divine,  how  does  thy  power  subdue 
The  fiercest  passions  of  the  human  heart, 
And  cause  the  lion  and  the  lamb  to  dwell 
In  peace,  where  thou  dost  reign.     The  free-born  soul 
Is  not  compelled  to  serve,— for  liberty 
Is  an  essential  attribute  of  mind, 
Which  God  will  not  destroy.     He  placed  us  here 
Our  faithfulness  to  prove,  and  gave  us  power 
To  choose  or  to  reject  his  proffer'd  grace. 
Pesires  and  appetites  has  he  conferr'd. 


150  THE    TRIUMPHS    OF    TRUTH. 

Which  though  essential  to  our  being,  here, 
And  all  conducive  to  our  highest  bliss 
When  under  his  control, — yet  when,  depriv'd 
Of  his  directing  power,  they  take  the  throne 
And  rule  in  our  affections,  how  they  bring 
The  soul  in  bondage  and  degrade  its  powers: 
Then  are  the  beasts  of  prey  let  loose;  and  man 
Goes  forth  the  enemy  of  man, — destroys 
That  life  which  God  alone  can  give, 
And  while  himself  the  slave  of  lust  and  pride, 
Becomes  the  oppressor  of  his  fellow  man. 

Oh!  may  thy  kingdom  come,  great  Prince  of  Peace, 
And  first  of  all,  may  they  who  bear  thy  name, 
Know  thy  meek  spirit  in  their  hearts  prevail; 
Then  shall  thy  doctrines  like  the  dew  distil, 
And  distant  nations  own  thy  blissful  reign. 

'Twas  thus  that  Paul  went  forth,  dependent  now 
Not  on  the  broken  reed  of  classic  lore, 
Or  speculative  science: — prostrate  lay 
The  structure  proud  of  his  ambitious  youth, 
He  counted  all  but  dross,  so  he  might  win 
That  wisdom  pure,  descended  from  above, 
Which  is  dispensed  to  babes: — and  when  he  spake, 
'Twas  not  with  eloquence  of  man's  device, 
But  even  with  fear  and  trembling, — and  the  fire 
Of  holy  love  that  kindled  in  his  heart 
And  strove  for  utterance,  burst  forth  a  flame 
That  swept  all  things  before  it:  all  the  art 


THE    TRIUMPHS    OF    TRUTH.  151 

And  sophistry  of  priests  could  not  withstand 
The  inward  evidence  and  melting  power, 
Of  that  Eternal  Word  by  which  he  spake. 

Oh!  what  a  band  of  valiants  then  went  forth, 
To  spread  the  gospel  banner,  and  to  give 
To  nations  long  benighted,  light  and  truth: 
Successors  of  the  Apostles;  Prophets  call'd 
Of  the  New  Testament, — undaunted  men 
In  whom  the  Spirit  of  Truth  was  manifest, 
Tho'  uninstructed  in  scholastic  lore, 
And  labouring  for  their  bread;  yet  were  they  taught 
In  wisdom  more  sublime,  than  all  the  schools 
Of  Egypt  or  of  Athens  could  impart. 

Nor  were  ye  left  behind  in  works  of  love, 
Mothers  and  sisters  of  the  martyr  band! 
The  last  to  leave  the  spot  where  Jesus  died, 
The  first  to  witness  his  triumphant  rise, 
And  bear  his  message  to  the  sons  of  men. 
How  steadfast  was  your  faith  !  how  pure  your  love! 
When  call'd  to  suffer  for  his  glorious  cause, 
Or  when,  with  wisdom  from  on  high  endued, 
Sent  forth  the  ministers  of  God  to  man. 

How  did  thy  light  break  forth  and  spread, 
O  Zion!  city  of  the  living  God ! 
The  nations  nocked  to  thee,  from  the  far  north 
Where  Scandinavian  forests  spread  their  gloom, 
Even  to  the  south,  where  Ethiopia's  sons 
Imploring  help,  stretch'd  forth  their  hands  to  God. 


162  TttE    TEIUMPHS    OF   TRUTli. 

But  now  the  time  draws  nigh,  when  all  your  faith, 

Your  constancy  and  love,  will  be  requir'd: 

Behold !  the  beast  of  Pagan  Rome  is  rous'd, 

By  rage  impelled,  by  superstition  led, 

Constraining  all,  his  impious  rites  to  join. 

The  blood  of  saints  and  martyrs  flows  profuse: 

Pursued  with  fire  and  sword,  by  tortures  racked, 

And  in  the  amphitheatre  expos'd 

To  all  the  fury  of  ferocious  beasts; 

A  spectacle  by  multitudes  enjoy'd, 

More  cruel  and  ferocious  still  than  they. 

Yet  how  triumphant  did  your  faith  appear! 

E'en  in  the  midst  of  torments  could  ye  sing 

The  praise  of  Him  whose  all-sustaining  word 

Dwelt  in  your  hearts,  the  living  source  of  joy. 

Then  did  thy  kingdom  spread,  Emmanuel ! 

Won  by  that  power  which  in  thy  servants  dwelt, 

His  bloody  sword  the  heathen  warrior  sheath'd, 

And  shap'd  to  arts  of  peace  the  glittering  spear, 

Renouncing  all  the  implements  of  war. 

Behold  how  fair  the  faithful  spouse  of  Christ; 

Her  spotless  garments  are  of  "linen  fine," 

"  The  righteousness  of  saints,"  from  heaven  sent  down 

T'  adorn  and  dignify  the  human  soul: 

Each  mild  perfection  and  commanding  grace 

In  her  is  seen  united,  while  she  goes 

Upon  her  way  rejoicing,  and  the  light 

Of  heavenly  Truth  is  shining  on  her  path. 


THE   MARTYRS. 


WHILE  Rome,  the  mistress  of  the  world,  remain'd 
In  base  submission  to  the  Tyrant's  rod, 

The  meek  disciples  of  the  Lamb  attain'd 
The  glorious  freedom  of  the  sons  of  God. 

What  tho'  in  suffering  they  were  doom'd  to  bear 
The  Martyr's  cross,  e'en  to  their  latest  breath; 

Yet  these  afflictions  they  rejoic'd  to  share, 

With  him  who  triumphed  o'er  the  power  of  death. 

While  in  their  view  the  glittering  crown  appears, 
Which  waits  the  Martyr  in  the  realms  above, 

'Twas  thus,  methinks,  triumphant  o'er  their  fears, 
They  sang  the  praises  of  Redeeming  Love: 

"To  thee  we  turn  our  thoughts,  Eternal  One! 

Who  form'd  the  worlds  by  thy  resistless  might, 
And  through  the  glorious  gospel  of  thy  Son, 

Brought  life  and  immortality  to  light. 
14 


154  THE    MARTYRS. 

"  Do  thou  be  with  us  in  that  trying  hour, 

When  nature  yields  to  agonizing  pain; 
Even  in  our  weakness  manifest  thy  power, 

Through  life  to  succour,  and  in  death  sustain. 

"  We  ask  not  vengeance  on  the  tyrant's  head, 
Whose  rage  consigns  us  to  the  Martyr's  stake, 

But  may  thy  glorious  kingdom  ever  spread, 
And  may  our  spirits  of  its  joys  partake. 

"  Thy  heavenly  image  in  our  hearts  renew, 
And  may  thy  spirit  in  our  minds  appear, 

Even  as  the  '  sunbeam  in  a  drop  of  dew'* 
Shines,  and  exalts  it  to  a  higher  sphere." 
1838. 

*  "As  shines  the  sunbeam  in  a  drop  of  dew." 

Russian  Anthology. 


LUCY'S    GRAVE.* 


SAY,  maiden,  say!  why  art  thou  here, 
The  midnight  hour  is  drawing  near, 

'Tis  darkness  all  around; 
The  stars  are  twinkling  from  on  high, 
The  night  winds  too  begin  to  sigh, 
And  hark!  the  owlet  seated  nigh, 

Emits  a  mournful  sound. 

"I  watch,"  the  lovely  maniac  said, 
"O'er  Lucy's  cold  and  lowly  bed, 

Until  the  moon  appear; 
For  here  does  she  unconscious  sleep, 
And  here  at  eve  I  come  to  weep 
Beside  her  grave,  and  constant  keep 

A  nightly  vigil  near. 

*  This  Ballad  was  written  many  years  ago, — the  incidents  on 
which  it  is  founded,  were  taken  from  a  work  called  the  "  New 
England  Tale." 


156  LUCY'S  GRAVE. 

"In  these  green  bays  with  which  I'm  crown'd. 
With  which  her  grave  is  strew'd  around, 

Her  emblem  we  may  see; 
For  she  was  lovely,  young,  and  gay, 
As  beauteous  and  as  fresh  as  they, 
But  soon  by  death  was  snatch'd  away, 

From  off  her  parent  tree. 

"She  lov'd,  oh!  yes,  she  fondly  lov'd, — 
Her  William  too  as  faithful  prov'd, — 

Their  hearts  were  both  sincere: 
How  sweetly  did  they  walk  the  vale, 
While  o'er  each  heart  did  love  prevail: 
He  told  his  artless,  tender  tale, 

Nor  loath  was  she  to  hear. 

"  But  civil  discord  soon  arose, 
More  dreadful  far  than  foreign  foes, 

And  spread  confusion  round; 
To  quell  the  rebels  William  sped,* 
From  Lucy's  soothing  voice  he  fled. 
To  hear  the  groaning  of  the  dead, 

And  trumpet's  martial  sound. 


*  The  rebellion  here  alluded  to,  was  an  attempt  made  by  Capt, 
Shay  and  others,  to  resist  the  laws  of  Massachusetts  in  the  year 
1786. 


LUCY'S  GRAVE.  157 

"  But  in  a  dark  unguarded  hour, 
O'ertaken  by  superior  power, 

A  captive  he  was  led; 
To  advance,  the  rebels  now  began, — 
Among  his  friends  the  rumour  ran, 
They'd  placed  him  in  the  battle's  van, 

To  strike  the  foe  with  dread. 

"His  comrades  now  advancing  bold, 
All  stand  aghast  when  they  behold 

The  captive  warrior  there; 
But  soon  the  hatred  of  their  foes, 
And  memory  of  their  country's  woes, 
O'er  every  tender  feeling  rose, 

For  combat  they  prepare. 

'"Twas  then  we  saw  young  Lucy's  form, 
Like  mercy's  angel  'midst  the  storm, 

With  fearless  footsteps  fly, — 
For  mercy's  sake,  she  cried,  forbear; 
Oh  !  spare  your  faithful  comrade,  spare, 
And  on  you  shall  my  constant  prayer 

Call  blessings  from  on  high. 

"  Her  fainting  form  they  bear  away  ; 
The  fiery  war-horse  seeks  the  fray, 

And  heeds  the  curb  no  more  : 
Now  sulphurous  flames  each  host  surround, 
14* 


158  LUCY'S  GRAVE. 

The  cannons  pour  the  bellowing  sound, 
And  hills  and  forests  trembling  round, 
Repeat  the  dreadful  roar. 

"  Beneath  his  friends'  own  galling  fire, 
Did  youthful  William  then  expire — 

The  ball  had  pierced  his  heart: 
To  Lucy's  arms  his  corse  they  bore, — 
She  press'd  his  bosom,  stain'd  with  gore, 
But  ah  !  from  her  pale  lips  no  more 

Did  word  or  sigh  depart. 

"  His  form  so  firmly  did  she  clasp, 

That  scarcely  could  they  loose  her  grasp— *• 

The  last  long  grasp  of  love  ; 
And  when  they  laid  him  'neath  the  sod, 
Her  spirit  loath'd  its  dark  abode, 
And  straitway  flew  to  meet  its  God, 

In  purer  realms  above. 

"  Oh  !  civil  war,  thou  worst  of  strife,. 
Thou  greatest  bane  of  human  life, 

What  woes  on  thee  await, — 
How  dost  thou  rend  the  dearest  ties, 
Call'd  up  by  thee,  what  furies  rise, 
Till  life  itself,  that  dearest  prize, 

Becomes  a  loathsome  state. 


LUCY'S  GRAVE.  159 

"  But  see  yon  eastern  streaks  of  light, 
The  moon  will  rise  and  watch  to  night 

O'er  Lucy's  lowly  bed, — 
She  loves  to  look  and  linger  near 
This  spot,  to  youth  and  virtue  dear, 
And  many  a  dewy,  sparkling  tear, 

Around  the  grave  will  shed." 

As  these  last  words  the  maniac  said, 
She  left  the  dwelling  of  the  dead, 

Nor  cast  one  glance  behind  ; 
Methought,  as  thence  I  took  my  way, 
There  's  naught  so  mournful  to  survey 
As  this  frail  tenement  of  clay, 

Deserted  by  the  mind. 

Let  others  roam  to  foreign  climes, 
Where  grandeur  reign'd  in  ancient  times, 

Now  strew'd  with  ruins  o'er, 
And  say,  "  Here  rolls  the  Tiber's  flood, 
'Twas  here  the  Coliseum  stood, 
And  here  the  faithful  martyr's  blood 

Was  shed  in  days  of  yore." 

'Tis  more  affecting  far  to  me 
This  lovely  maniac's  form  to  see, 
Than  works  of  human  hands  : 


160  LUCY'S  GRAVE. 

The  latest  work  of  heavenly  care 
Was  woman's  form  divinely  fair, 
But  see,  this  temple  past  repair, 
A  desert  ruin  stands. 


EVENING  REFLECTIONS. 


OH  !  how  I  love,  at  evening's  close, 
When  day's  last  lingering  beams  decay, 

In  sweet  secluded  calm  repose, 
To  sit  and  muse  the  hours  away. 

Not  till  the  sun's  resplendent  blaze, 

The  mountain's,  western  verge  has  sought, 

The  moon  her  crescent  pale  displays, 
To  soothe  the  soul  to  solemn  thought. 

'Tis  not  till  present  scenes  around 
Have  faded  with  the  fading  day, 

Will  memory's  silvery  light  be  found, 
To  bring  the  soul  beneath  her  sway* 

Oh  !  memory,  sweet  consoling  power, 

On  earth  thy  lot  is  kindly  cast, 
To  cheer  each  solitary  hour, 

With  pleasures  borrow'd  from  the  past. 


162  EVENING    REFLECTIONS. 

The  scenes  of  early  life,  I  see, 

And  youthful  friends  around  me  stand: 

So  clear, — so  plain, — they  seem  to  be 
Returning  from  a  distant  land. 

At  such  an  hour  I  feel  like  those 

Who  skim  the  ocean's  waveless  breast, 

When  evening's  shades  around  them  close, 
And  mildest  zephyrs  soothe  to  rest. 

Far  from  the  busy  haunts  of  life, 

They  keep  their  noiseless,  peaceful  way, 

Nor  hear  the  world's  discordant  strife, 
Nor  feel  the  passions'  ruthless  sway. 

Although  the  smooth,  unruffled  tide, 

Still  bears  them  onward  from  their  homes, 

In  dreams,  with  fancy's  wings  supplied, 
Round  that  lov'd  spot  the  seaman  roams. 

He  hears  the  voice  of  friendship  greet, 
With  cheering  words,  his  safe  return, — 

And  sees  that  glance,  so  witching  sweet, 
Which  makes  the  heart  with  rapture  burn. 

'Tis  thus  amid  my  waking  dreams, 
I  fly  o'er  Time's  swift  rolling  wave, 

And  join  my  friends  in  distant  scenes, 
Or  call  them  from  the  dreary  grave. 


EVENING    REFLECTIONS.  163 

Tis  at  this  hour  that  fancy's  flight 

Beyond  the  realms  of  present  day, 
Far  through  futurity's  dark  night, 

Pursues  her  swift  adventurous  way. 

'Tis  then  she  sees  those  visions  bright 

Of  future  days  and  happier  times, 
And  dreams  of  that  supreme  delight 

Reserved  alone  for  purer  climes, — 

Beholds  a  region  where  no  storms 

Shall  mar  the  loveliness  of  day, 
Communes  with  purer,  happier  forms, 

Which  reason's  light  must  chase  away. 

But  ah!  the  dreams  she  then  pursues, 
Like  western  clouds  at  close  of  day, 

Assume  a  thousand  forms  and  hues, 
As  fleeting,  though  as  bright,  as  they. 


LINES 


WRITTEN    IN    AN    ALBUM. 


METHINKS  an  emblem  of  the  cultur'd  mind, 

The  rich  and  varied  Album  was  design'd; 

Friendship  and  love,  like  amaranthine  flowers, 

Bloom  here,  selected  from  unnumber'd  bowers; 

And  taste  and  genius  each  succeeding  year, 

Shall  bring  fresh  flowers  to  shed  their  fragrance  here. 

Fain  would  I  plant  in  this  delightful  spot, 

That  little  modest  flower,— Forget-me-not: 

And  oh  !  how  happy,  could  I  dare  presume, 

'Twere  worth  transplanting  in  thy  heart  to  bloom. 


MENTAL  BEAUTY. 


TELL  not  of  Persia's  blue  ey'd  maids, 
With  golden  locks  so  graceful  flowing, — 

Tell  not  of  Cashmere's  flowery  glades, 
With  spicy-fragrant  zephyrs  blowing. 

Though  bleak  the  clime,  and  rough  the  land, 
Give  me  Columbia's  free-born  nation, 

Where  Beauty's  fairest  flowers  expand, 
Beneath  the  beams  of  Education. 

Give  me  the  intellectual  glance, 
Reason's  ethereal  light  revealing^— 

The  mental  glow,  that  can  entrance 
The  human  soul  with  tenderest  feeling. 

The  lovely  Persian's  azure  eye, 

With  Nature's  warm  expression  beaming, 
May  raise  the  floods  of  passion  high 

With  rapture,  but  with  danger  teeming. 
15 


166  MENTAL   BEAUT1?. 

But  to  behold  this  mental  glow, 

The  soul  o'erflows  with  soft  emotion,- 

Mild  as  the  tides,  delighted,  flow, 
When  Luna  smiles  upon  the  ocean. 


TO   OPHELIA. 


WRITTEN    FOR    AN    ALBUM. 


ON  thee,  Ophelia,  youth's  enlivening  ray 
Shines  brightly  now,  and  gilds  thy  flowery  way, — 
Hope  calls  thee  forward  to  her  fairy  bowers, 
And  love  and  friendship  gladden  all  thy  hours. 
The  minstrel's  art  is  needless  then,  to  cheer 
Thy  heart  with  music,  or  to  soothe  thine  ear; 
For  sorrow's  note  that  ear  hath  seldom  met, — 
The  vernal  sounds  of  youth  float  round  it  yet; 
That  heart,  methinks,  is  innocent  and  gay, 
And  needs  no  song  to  chase  its  cares  away. 
For  me,  I  trust,  the  nobler  task  remains, 
To  breathe  instruction  in  the  minstrel's  strains, — 
To  warn  the  youthful  heart  that  those  bright  flowers, 
Which  bloom  in  Pleasure's  fascinating  bowers, 
Will  droop  and  fall  in  our  autumnal  day, 
And  lose  their  fragrance,  ere  they  fade  away. 


168  TO    OPHELIA. 

But  let  not  Virtue  mourn  the  early  fate, 

Of  things  unworthy  of  a  longer  date, — 

For  there  are  flowers  that  shall  survive  the  tomb. 

And  shed  their  fragrance  in  immortal  bloom — 

Those  which  are  planted  by  that  Power  above, 

Whose  ways  are  goodness,  and  whose  name  is  Love, 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  HARP.* 


FAREWELL,  my  Harp!  I'm  loath  to  say  farewell! 
But  not  for  aye,  I  trust,  thou'lt  cease  thy  flow; 
How  oft  the  influence  of  thy  witching  spell  f 

Hath  rais'd  my  raptures,  and  hath  soothed  my  woe. 

But  'tis  not  meet  that  fancy's  restless  wing 
Should  from  ourselves,  our  scrutiny  withhold; 
Mark  how  the  fairest  products  of  the  spring, 
Strike  deep  their  roots  before  their  flowers  unfold. 

The  vines  of  nature  ask  the  culturing  hand, 
To  lift  their  tendrils  in  the  noon-tide  blaze, — 
Nor  less  the  germs  of  intellect  demand, 
Both  reason's  culture,  and  truth's  genial  rays. 


*  These  stanzas  were  written  in  early  life,  at  a  time  when  the 
author  felt  it  his  duty  to  renounce,  for  a  time,  the  cultivation  of 
poetry. 

15* 


170  FAREWELL    TO    THE    HARP. 

Oh !  then,  if  fancy  hath  presum'd  too  soon 
To  pluck  the  fruits,  or  flowers  in  opening  bloom, 
I'll  wait  the  hour  when  manhood's  fervid  noon, 
To  those  gives  richness,  and  to  these  perfume, 

Then  fare-thee-well,  my  Harp ! — and  should  I  not 
Again  on  earth  attune  thy  lays  to  love; 
When  these  shall  perish, — like  myself— forgot, 
Oh  !  mayst  thou  wake  to  nobler  strains  above. 


DEVOTIONAL   POEMS. 


I. 

TEACH  me,  oh !  Father,  good  and  wise, 
The  paths  of  folly  to  despise, 

And  shim  the  snares  of  youth; 
May  all  my  thoughts  incline  to  thee, 
For  thou  canst  set  the  sinner  free, 

And  clothe  him  with  thy  truth. 

And  when  I  feel  thy  chastening  rod, 
I'll  praise  thee  still,  for  thou  art  God, 

And  knowest  what  is  right; 
Though  darkness  may  ohscure  my  way, 
I'll  watch  to  see  the  dawning  ray, 

Of  thy  Eternal  Light. 

For  when  the  soul  submits  to  thee, 
This  light  within  she  then  may  see, 

And  own  thy  way  is  best; 
The  Christian  then  enraptur'd  cries, 
While  grateful  tears  start  from  his  eyes, 

How  are  the  righteous  blest! 


172  DEVOTIONAL    POEMS. 

Though  Death  stride  victor  through  the  land, 
Upheld  by  thy  Almighty  Hand, 

Still  do  they  trust  in  thee, — 
For  well  they  know  that  all  thy  ways, 
Shall  call  forth  everlasting  praise, 

When  Time  shall  cease  to  be. 


II. 

GRANT  me,  once  more,  Almighty  Lord, 
To  supplicate  thy  throne  of  grace, — 

Withdraw  not  yet  thy  precious  word, — 
From  me,  oh !  hide  not  now  thy  face. 

My  foes  encompass  me  around, 
On  every  side  their  arrows  fly; 

Heal, — heal,  O  Lord,  the  mortal  wound, 
Emmanuel  save  me,  or  I  die. 

'Tis  all  in  vain  I  arm  my  heart 

With  firm  resolves  to  shun  the  snare, 

The  tempter  comes  with  subtle  art, 
Corrupts  the  guard,  and  enters  there. 

Thy  temple,  Lord,  have  they  defil'd, 
Thine  altars  have  they  broken  down, — 

The  place  where  once  thy  beauty  smil'd, 
Now  seems  o'erclouded  with  thy  frown. 


DEVOTIONAL    POEMS.  17B 

Once  more  wilt  thou,  my  Saviour,  deign 
To  bless  me  with  thy  smile  benign, 

Oh !  wilt  thou  yet  consent  to  reign 
Within  a  heart  so  frail  as  mine. 

I  feel  the  burden  of  my  sin, 

Abhor  the  masters  I  have  served, — 

Thine  eye  hath  all  my  anguish  seen, 
And  all  my  bitter  tears  observed. 

Oh !  fix  within  my  heart  thy  throne, 
From  sin's  hard  bondage  set  me  free, 

I'll  place  my  trust  on  thee  alone, 
And  all  my  soul  devote  to  thee. 


III. 

OH  !  thou  Almighty  Power  above, 
And  sovereign  Lord  of  all, 

Continue  still  thy  work  of  love, 
Preserve  me,  or  I  fall. 

'Twas  thou  alone  didst  set  me  free 
From  Egypt's  darksome  land; 

The  powers  of  sin,  in  judgment's  sea, 
Were  whelm'd  at  thy  command. 


174  DEVOTIONAL    POEMS. 

My  tongue  was  loos'd  to  sing  thy  praise. 

In  that  delightful  hour, — 
Thy  goodness,  and  thy  boundless  grace, 

Thy  majesty  and  power. 

Oh!  Lamb  of  God,  continue  still, 
To  bless  me  with  thy  love, 

Deign  thou  my  hungering  soul  to  fill 
With  manna  from  above. 

And  oh !  be  pleased,  my  raging  thirst, 

With  water  to  assuage, 
Which  flows  from  thee,  my  only  trust, 

The  Rock  of  every  age. 


IV. 

OH  !  when,  ye  Passions,  will  ye  cease 

To  rend  my  aching  heart  with  pain, — 
Oh !  when  wilt  thou,  celestial  Peace, 

Return  and  rest  with  me  again  ? 

Long  have  I  striven,  but  in  vain, 
To  quell  each  rising,  vain  desire, — 

Oh !  come,  Emmanuel,  come  and  reign, — 
A  purer,  brighter  flame  inspire, 

And  cause  my  heart  to  glow,  with  thy  own  heavenly 
fire. 


DEVOTIONAL    POEMS.  175 

Does  there  remain  a  place  for  me, 

Within  the  bounds  of  Zion's  hill? 
Can  such  a  sinner  yet  be  free, — 

Oh !  may  he  hope  for  pardon  still? 

Lord,  let  me  bow  before  thy  will, 
Oh  !  condescend  to  hear  my  prayer; 

Teach  me  each  duty  to  fulfil, 
And  guard  me  from  each  secret  snare; 
My  heart  with  love  refine,  and  fix  thy  kingdom  there. 


V. 

GREAT  Source  of  life  and  purity, 

All  human  praise  excelling, 
Whose  empire  is  infinity, 

The  humble  heart  thy  dwelling. 

The  winds  and  waves  confess  thy  might, 
Which  curbs  the  raging  ocean, 

Which  bade  the  planets  spring  to  light, 
And  still  directs  their  motion. 

All  nature  owns  thy  sovereign  sway, 
From  thee  each  power  deriving, 

Shall  man  alone  then  disobey, 
With  whom  thy  spirit 's  striving. 


DEVOTIONAL    POEMS. 

On  him  alone  hast  thou  conferr'd 
Each  high  and  holy  feeling, 

The  riches  of  thy  living  word, 
Within  his  heart  revealing. 

Oh !  let  me  then  devote  to  thee, 

The  powers  which  thou  hast  given, - 

And  may  they  all  incentives  be, 
To  lead  my  soul  to  heaven. 


THE  ACTIVITY  OF  THE  SOUL. 


MY  slumb'ring  soul,  awake,  arise, 
The  dream  of  life  will  soon  be  ended, — 
Remember,  there  are  brighter  skies, 
For  man  intended. 

The  journey  to  that  glorious  sphere, 
Must  be  through  toil  and  self-denying, 
For  while  we  stand  or  loiter  here, 

Our  time  is  flying. 

Look  round  the  world,  and  say,  if  aught 
Has  been  created  void  of  motion, — 
See!  how  the  winds,  with  blessings  fraught, 
Sweep  o'er  the  ocean. 

Without  their  pure  and  potent  breath, 
The  slumb'ring  waves,  in  foul  stagnation, 
Would  send  forth  pestilential  death, 
O'er  all  creation. 
16 


178  THE    ACTIVITY    OF    THE    SOUL. 

'Tis  thus,  to  rouse  the  soul  to  bliss, 
A  power  invisible  is  given, 
Within  the  world  of  mind, — it  is 

The  breath  of  Heaven. 

See !  what  a  stream  of  light  comes  forth 
From  yon  bright  sun,  continual  flowing, — 
Cheer'd  by  his  smile,  th' obedient  earth 
Is  onward  going. 

But  oh  !  there  is  a  sun  more  bright, 
To  works  of  love  the  soul  inclining, — 
Tho'  oft  by  clouds  obscured,  His  light 
Is  ever  shining. 

His  word  shall  evermore  endure, — 
His  presence,  every  good  comprises, 
And  every  aspiration  pure, 

From  Him  arises. 

For  human  souls  the  course  how  clear ! 
While  they  pursue  the  path  of  duty, 
Like  planets,  moving  in  their  sphere 

Of  heavenly  beauty. 

Oh  !  then  let  not  the  soul  stand  still, 
While  all  creation  is  in  motion, 
But,  by  obedience  to  His  will. 

Prove  our  devotion. 


THE    ACTIVITY    OF    THE    SOUL.  179 

And  while  on  its  probation  here, 

Th'  attentive  mind  His  law  is  learning, — 

Still,  to  a  higher,  nobler  sphere, 

Its  thoughts  are  turning. 

And  ev'n  in  purer  realms  above, 

Can  there  be  bliss,  without  employment? 

Oh  no !  the  soul,  in  deeds  of  love, 

Will  find  enjoyment. 

Throughout  creation,  all  we  see, 
Is  this  important  lesson  teaching, — 
The  soul  must  ever  active  be, 

And  forward  reaching. 

How  vast  a  field  of  wonders  here, 
By  Heavenly  love  has  been  provided, 
To  prompt  the  mind,  in  its  career 

By  Science  guided. 

But  far  more  glorious  the  abode, 
Prepar'd  on  high  for  our  reception, 
And  nobler  powers  will  be  bestow'd 

For  its  perception. 

And  oh  !  methinks,  in  that  bfest  clime, 
The  soul  redeemed,  with  rapture  burning, — 
In  wisdom,  more  and  more  sublime, 

Will  still  be  learning. 


180  THE    ACTIVITY    OF    THE    SOUL. 

Then,  forward  let  us  take  our  way, 
No  longer  "  slumber's  chain"  should  bind  us,. 
But  all  that  would  our  march  delay, 
Be  cast  behind  us. 

Not  for  the  gain  of  sordid  gold, 

Nor  worldly  power,  be  our  endeavour; 

For  if  to  these  in  bondage  sold, 

We're  lost  forever. 

Not  to  the  field  of  martial  strife, 

For  man's  applause,  our  course  directing, — 

But  for  a  higher,  purer  life, 

Our  powers  perfecting. 

The  church  of  Christ — his  spotless  bride > 
Invites  us,  in  the  martyr's  story, — 
His  spirit  too — our  light  and  guide, 
Calls  us  to  glory. 

Whose  faith  shall  to  the  end  endure, 
O'er  all  the  powers  of  sin  victorious, 
A  crown  of  life  shall  there  secure, 

Forever  glorious. 

And  he,  who  while  sojourning  here, 
One  wandering  soul  from  sin  shall  sever, 
There,  like  a  planet  in  his  sphere, 

Shall  shine  forever. 
1839. 

THE    END. 


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